


More than Meets the Eye

by APurpleAvocado



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Historical References, Historical laws, Homophobia, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Racism, Rated mature for sensitive topics, Sexism, Slow Burn, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-23 00:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21310981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APurpleAvocado/pseuds/APurpleAvocado
Summary: Seeking a new work situation, Carl sets up an interview for Markus to meet with Lady Christina Warren, who charges him with watching her unruly son Simon.Christina is enigmatic as to the exact nature of her son's unruliness, and Markus finds himself with even more questions than answers after his interview; especially upon meeting her two sons, Simon and his brother Daniel. Simon, who captured his attention immediately.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 272
Kudos: 143





	1. A New Situation

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Victorian England. So, attitudes will be pretty dated. I just got this idea listening to some music and I had to get it down. It's not going to be 100% plain sailing for the characters in this story, but I promise it'll have a happy ending. 
> 
> And yes, there is Mama Warren in this story.

The large stately home loomed over him beyond a wrought iron fence and a great gateway. It gave him pause for just a moment before he approached the gate. Seeing that it was locked, he waited. The house was impressive, detached and regal, as were many other houses in the area. Many, but not all influential people made their homes here. The house was old, a distinctly different style to some of the others, and markedly different from the many terraced houses that had sprung up in recent years, with the rise of industry and so many more people making their home in London, to follow their work. 

It was work that brought him to this house, having secured an interview with the help of his guardian. He had arrived early, so was unsurprised to find that he had to wait beyond the gate until he saw a servant approaching, her hands clasped together demurely in front of her as she reached the gate. She was dark-skinned with her hair pinned neatly beneath her white bonnet. She said nothing to him until she retrieved a key from the pocket of her crisp white apron and unlocked the padlock on the gate and unlatched the bolted gate, allowing him entry. “Good morning, sir. You are Mister Markus Manfred?” she asked, and when he nodded she continued. “If you’ll follow me, the mistress is waiting within.”

Markus waited for her to secure the gate closed once again before falling into step with her. “I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting the lady of the house before,” he said conversationally, “although I’ve heard she is a fine woman.”

There was a brief pause. Markus could tell she was choosing her words. “The mistress is a fine lady indeed, and kind enough,” she offered and then turned to regard him curiously. “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she began haltingly. “But Markus Manfred...like the famous painter?”

“The very one,” Markus said with a gentle smile. “Mister Manfred is a good man,” he told her. “I’m not ashamed to call him my guardian.”

“He must be,” she said. They shared a moment of mutual understanding. Neither were welcomed into polite society except in the capacity of an employee. Markus regarded the notion of his racial inferiority as dated, but he could not change the attitude of the people, especially not alone. It was a rare thing indeed to see a man of colour in a position of power or influence. He wondered, hoped that things would change. He just wasn’t sure he would ever see it. 

They shared one last polite smile before they entered the home. The foyer was impressive - marble floors and a grand, carpeted staircase. A circular table stood in the centre of the room set upon a patterned rug. The only thing on the table was a large vase filled with a lavish bouquet of yellow tulips and other flowers Markus couldn’t identify. The foyer was otherwise abandoned, light and airy thanks to the wide windows on either side of the impressive front door. The attitude of the room, however, seemed largely cold.

“The parlour is this way,” the servant said, guiding him further into the house and down a corridor. She knocked a entered when she was given permission. And stepped into the room. “A mister Markus Manfred to see you, ma’am,” she said before she left the room, closing the door gently behind her. 

The room was warm, thanks to a crackling fire on the opposite wall, surrounded by a plush setee with large high-backed armchairs either side. The floor of this room was dominated by a large rug which hid almost entirely the marble floor beneath. A few cabinets lined the wall as well as a grand piano off to the far side. Several remarkable pieces of portraiture that Markus could only imagine, were but a few of the family’s ancestors. He noticed, of course, the large portrait taking pride of place above the fireplace. Lady Warren herself seated on a chair with her skirted arrayed around her neatly. Behind her with a hand on her shoulder was a man - equally blonde with a fine moustache. And older gentleman, no doubt her husband. On either side of her were two boys who appeared to no older than fifteen years of age, remarkably similar. He moved further into the room, peering at the photograph. It wasn’t until he reached the settee that he realised, that not only were they similar, but identical. Twins. 

“Mister Manfred,” a voice said, patiently, although Markus didn’t miss the reprimand. “Please, do sit.”

Markus nearly jumped out of his skin. “I apologise,” he said, doing as he was directed, sitting in the armchair oppose the person who spoke. She was blonde, hair pinned neatly into a bun, and in a navy dress that complimented her pale skin. She was approaching her fifties, if he had to guess, judging from the lines decorating otherwise fine features. “Your family portrait is...quite beautiful, Lady Warren.”

A slow smile spread across her face and she softened almost immediately. “I see Mister Manfred’s influence continues to spread,” she said, kindly. “Do you enjoy art?”

“Oh yes,” Markus agreed, enthusiastically. “It is the purest expression of one’s innermost feelings that I know,” he explained, and she nodded apparently in approval.

“My sons have quite grown,” she said, gesturing to the painting. “Although their father, God rest his soul, is no longer with us.” Markus frowned and opened his mouth to console her, but she did not seem to expect a response as she continued to speak. “I keep meaning to have another portrait done, but I can’t seem to bear to take this one down. Perhaps someday soon, but not now.”

“Of course,” Markus nodded in understanding. “It can be difficult after the loss of a loved one,” he said. “I recall Carl- uh, Mister Manfred, attended the funeral. I only regret that I could not attend myself.”

Lady Warren let out a sudden bark of laughter, which she stifled immediately, and composed herself. “I would not have expected you to,” she said quickly. Markus couldn’t help but think she had meant that she wouldn’t have wanted him there regardless. “But enough about me,” she said. “We’re here to discuss your work for our family.”

Nodding, Markus sat up and leant back into his seat, straight-backed. “Of course,” he said. “Mister Manfred said that you wished for your sons to have protection arranged for them.”

“Son,” she clarified. “Daniel is quite capable of handling himself,” she told Markus. “My son, Simon, however, appears incapable of not embarrassing himself, or this family.”

Markus frowned and his eyebrows kit together in concern. “I don’t understand,” he said.

Lady Warren’s lips pursed together in irritation. “Before we continue this discussion, I want to be clear that none of this leaves this room,” she said, her tone once again harsh and condemning. “If I so much as catch a whiff of any gossip, I’ll know who it came from, and you will not like the consequences,” she said, narrowing her eyes upon Markus. “Do you follow?”

Taken aback by her sudden shift in attitude, Markus nodded quickly. “Of course. You have my word,” he promised.

Lady Warren assessed Markus slowly, her eyes running upon and down, sceptically. “Simon is to be watched like a hawk,” she began again as a long pause. “You go where he goes, no exceptions,” she paused, and it was only when Markus nodded in affirmation that she continued. “He thinks I am ignorant of his sneaking out at night, but I assure you I am not,” she told him.

“And you’re afraid he will damage your family’s reputation?” Markus asked, slowly.

“Precisely,” she said. “He has already-” she halted in her speech and appeared to blanch at the mere thought of what she might say. “Daniel confided in me something that I find quite distressing. Simon is,” she said slowly. “Well, he is unfit to represent this family, but he is family all the same and he must be protected...from himself.”

Markus was shocked, not exactly certain how to take the news. “Is he..ill?” He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting but a mentally ill man had not been one of them. He vaguely wondered if this Simon was going to be a violent man, or a danger not only to himself but others as well. “Is he violent?” Markus asked, sitting forward in his seat. “If he is, you should consider-”

Lady Warren laughed. “Heavens, no,” he said, waving off his concern. “My Simon has always been a gentle boy,” she told him, and he relaxed. “He’s harmless,” the laughter was gone soon enough and her expression was once again dire. “But there are people who would wish him harm...and regardless of his...well. I love my son, you understand.”

Markus nodded again, though the lack of clarity left anything but understanding in its wake.

“Now, Mister Manfred assures me you’re a physically capable young man,” Lady Warren began again after a moment, “although I refused to guarantee any sort of employment until I had met you for myself.” Again Markus remained silent, and this, for what it was worth, seemed to please the mistress of the house. “Of course I’m glad to see you have your wits about you,” she said. “Your job is to be seen and not heard for the most part,” she explained. Markus tried not to let the comment get under his skin. “As of now, Simon’s business is your business, and again, discretion is paramount.”

“Absolutely,” Markus said perhaps a little more sharply than he meant to as Lady Warren rose from her seat. He did the same and followed when she gestured for him to do so.

“My boys are currently in the library,” she said. “You’ll learn your way around soon enough, but for now, I’ll take you to meet them before you leave.”

Markus merely nodded, and was pleased to find that she didn’t take offence to the lack of conversation on his part, apparently quite uninterested in him beyond his ability to keep his mouth shut. He imagined that the servants in the home were hardly able to utter a word to her unless it was absolutely necessary. 

As the pair walked, Lady Warren continued to list her expectations. “Of course, given the nature of your role here, I’ll have a room prepared for you down the hall from Simon’s room. It’s as close as I’d dare place you,” she commented and Markus frowned, uncertain as to what she meant by the comment. “You may send your belongings here at once, and I’ll have the servants prepare your room for your arrival tomorrow...”

There was some talk of wages and time off, all of which Markus found agreeable and had little to complain about. Honestly, having a guest room was something of a surprise. He’d have expected a room in the servant’s quarters and nothing more, but he supposed she was right to make sure her son’s bodyguard could...well. Guard him.

Soon enough the pair reached a set of large solid oak doors, which Lady Warren pushed open and waltzed inside, with him trailing in behind her. He couldn’t help but adjust his jacket and straighten his tie as he did so. The room was comfortably warm thanks to yet another large and homely fireplace. Bookshelves lined the walls and a desk sat against both the east and western walls. Clearly meant for study. The desk to the east was covered with papers that Markus could not make out the details of. A writing desk sat in the corner of the room, a capped bottle of ink and a quill resting there, unused. A settee and armchairs were arranged in a way similar to that of the parlour room, although a number of other armchairs marked the corners of the room, some with footstools and some without as well as several side tables. Overall the room seemed decidedly more cluttered than the parlour, but well used and well-loved. The floors were hardwood it made the room feel significantly more friendly than anywhere else he had been within the home.

“Simon,” Lady Warren began “Daniel, this is Mister Markus Manfred,” She said, gesturing to Markus as his eyes finally alighted onto the two other gentlemen in the room. Both blonde-haired and blue-eyed like their mother. They appeared quite similar at first glance, although their hair was parted differently, and Markus couldn’t yet tell who was who. Markus offered the pair of them a wordless, polite bow, and they both stood, in almost alarming unison to stand and offer him polite nods of their own. Their suits were neatly pressed although both lacked their suit jackets, favouring instead to wear a simple tie and waistcoat coupled with a white shirt and black trousers. One wore a navy blue waistcoat, cotton and plain. The other was one of much the same style, although it was a paler blue. “He’ll be employed with us as of tomorrow.”

“A pleasure,” Markus said, looking between the two men, gauging their reaction.

The man in the navy waistcoat took a step forward and regarded him critically, apparently sceptical of his mother’s decision. The blonde glanced between his brother and Markus and frowned a little. “I thought you were only interviewing Mister Manfred as a favour, mother,” he said, and the corner of Markus’ mouth twitched in irritation, stung. “I hadn’t realised you meant to consider him seriously.”

“Daniel,” She admonished. “Do not be so ill-mannered.”

Stood beside Daniel, Simon (Markus realised by process of elimination) frowned, and though he opened his mouth to speak, it seemed he soon aborted the notion. He merely clutched the book he had been holding against his chest, finger pressed between the pages to mark his place. Markus found himself stuck by the quiet intensity in Simon’s gaze when their eyes met, although he couldn’t read into Simon’s expression beyond that fact that he seemed guarded. 

“But yes,” Lady Warren continued. “Simon,” she said and pulled Simon’s gaze away from him, and Markus felt inexplicably exposed. “As we discussed, Markus will be here to mind you from now on.”

Had Markus not been watching Simon intently, he might have missed the almost imperceptible slump of his shoulders. His expression, for the most part, remained the same and his reply was simple as he sank slowly into his armchair once more. “Yes, mother,” he replied, despondently. He said nothing even as Daniel went to his side, to place a hand on his shoulder and instead twisted away from the touch, leaning heavily to one side as he opened his book and began to read.

Markus noticed Daniel flinch a little at the rejection, and took note of the strained family relationships, not that he hadn’t already inferred that there might be some disagreement within the walls of the Warren homestead. 

“If you don’t mind,” Markus began suddenly, breaking the tension in the room. “I must make preparations if I am to be ready to work by tomorrow,” he said, taking half a step back towards the door.

All three Warrens turned to look at him, all of whom wore almost owlish expressions as though all three had forgotten he had even been in the room. He might have laughed had he not felt so awkward under their intense stares. It was easy enough to see the family resemblance, but to see near-identical expressions staring back at him drove the point home. “Of course,” Lady Warren said, clearing her throat and regaining her composure quickly. “We won’t keep you a moment longer.”

“I’ll show myself out,” Markus said, not wanting to spend another moment in such tense company. He felt as if he were intruding on some intimate moment, although he resigned himself to the fact he would likely be experiencing many more in the future. He parted ways with them with a short bow and made his way to the door and out of the house. 

* * *

Markus closed the front door behind him, and leant back against it, heaving a sigh. He was more than happy to be in his own home, with light cherry wood floors and warm, colourful carpets and clean white walls lined with familiar art. Same of it was Carl’s own work and others were portraits done by others over the years. By and large, their home was more modest than that of the Warrens, although it was not without its luxuries. Carl’s art had afforded him great popularity and wealth, and few true friends. Markus felt lucky to be considered one of them.

Shirking off his coat, he turned and placed it on the coat hanger by the door and straightened out his clothes. “What have I got myself into,” he said quietly to himself, running a hand over his face in exasperation. 

“Markus!”

Glancing up, Markus took another moment to compose himself before he turned and made his way into the livingroom - large, lined with bookshelves, several sofas and armchairs and a piano off to one side, across from a globe of the world and a chessboard set by a large window, which invited the warmth into the room. They almost didn’t need the fireplace, although given that it was the depth of winter, that statement was not entirely true. “I’m here, Carl.”

The old man was sat in his wheelchair with a blanket placed over his legs, reading a book by his fireplace. He had a book in his hands and a steaming cup of tea on the side table beside him. “I thought I heard you come in,” Carl said warmly, gesturing for Markus to sit in the armchair beside him. “Tell me,” he began. “How did it go?”

Taking the proffered seat, Markus sighed again, sitting forward in his seat with his elbows resting on his knees and he arms loosely crossed in front of him. “It was exhausting,” he said, with a wry smile.

“That bad?” Carl said, raising an eyebrow. Carl looked tired, but that had come with his age. His eyes were alight with life and betrayed his amusement. 

“Not bad per se,” Markus amended. “I think I’d arrived at a bad time. I couldn’t help but notice a certain degree of tension in the air.”

“Oh well,” Carl said, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully. “Christina runs a tight ship,” he told Markus. “I wouldn’t be too surprised.”

Markus tilted his head thoughtfully, his gaze landing upon the crackling fire, watching the fire dance for a time. In his mind, Markus couldn’t help but recall dispirited blue eyes. Carl let them fall into a comfortable silence, placing his book in his lap and resting his hands upon it. He watched the flames with Markus, his smile slipping from his face. “I know you encouraged me to make my own way,” Markus said slowly. “But I don’t want to leave you, Carl.”

There was a brief pause before Carl sighed softly, and nodded. “Believe me, I don’t want to see you go either,” Carl explained. “But I’m not going to be here forever, and I would-”

“Rather see me situated before Leo came into his inheritance,” Markus finished for him with a frown. “I know.”

Again they lapsed into silence again, and after some time, Markus looked at Carl, who looked back at him. “I love you, Carl.”

“I love you too, son.”


	2. Ruined Watercolours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day on the job and it's a perfectly miserable one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is here, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

When he arrived at the Warren homestead the next day, Markus rode in a carriage guarded against the deluge of rain that fell from the sky. The constant drum of the rain at it hit the roof of the carriage soothed him and the smattering of water against the glass of the windows distorted the world outside and called to mind a few of his own ruined watercolours, spoiled by careless brush strokes and too much water. He hadn’t known what to make of Carl and his painting in his younger years, and Carl had practically dared him to try his hand at painting. Suffice it to say he had gladly taken up the challenge. 

The carriage rolled to a stop and he reached for the umbrella at his side as the footman opened the door, his own umbrella at the ready. Markus stepped with him up the doorway and offered a quiet “thank you,” before he took off his hat, and opened the front door. The footman followed him inside, but not before shaking out his umbrella on the doorstep and shut the door.

“The Lady Warren begs me to tell you she apologises for not greeting you herself, but she’s taking tea in town,” Markus nodded his understanding as the footman gestured him upstairs. “Your room is up this way,” he explained. “Master Daniel is at work and won’t be back until the evening.”

Markus nodded at the crested the landing on the upper levels. “My things arrived safely?” he asked.

“Quite safe,” the footman confirmed. “They have been placed in your room”

They took a left and Markus found himself being led down a wide hallway, with carpeted dark wooden flooring and dark, ornate wallpaper. The upper levels appeared less inviting than the lower level, although to Markus it felt more private, more intimate and not too dissimilar in attitude to the library.

“The steward - Mr. Brinkley - asks that you come to the kitchens once your settle, but begs you take your time,” he told Markus. “It’s just to meet the rest of the household,” he explained, taking not of Markus’ concerned expression. “Supper is at six o’clock sharp. Don’t be late. Mrs Williams always serves dinner on time and if you miss it, you’re not eating until breakfast.”

“Mrs Williams?” Markus asked.

“Head Housekeeper. Good woman,” the Footman explained.

“Forgive me,” Markus said. “Markus Manfred,” he offered the other man. “You are?”

“Oh, right!” The man blinked and smiled. He was a handsome youth with sharp features and cloudy blue eyes, nowhere near as striking at that of the entire Warren clan, but he seemed to have an honest disposition. “Avery, sir. Avery Hendricks.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hendricks,” Markus said. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Right you are,” He said and stepped away from the bedroom door and nodded before taking his leave abruptly.

Markus stepped into his room, taking a moment to look around. His chest rested at the foot of his bed with a number of his other bags, the bed was made with simple sheets and a quick inspection yielded the knowledge that the bed appeared tolerably soft. There were two decently sized windows on either side of his double bed and a wardrobe to the left of the bedroom door. A washbasin and jug occupied the left side of the door, and A dresser occupied the wall adjacent to the bed. The wallpaper was an ugly sort of green - too dark and smattered with pink floral designs, but the floor was still that dark, warm wood. The curtains too were green, thick and ideal for keeping out the light. They were still ugly, though. There were no rugs. There was, however, a small fireplace in the corner of the room beside the washbasin, as yet unlit, but at least his room would be suitably warm over the course of the winter. A small pile of wood and kindling were set within, and a box of matches sat neatly upon the dresser. 

Although the room was well-equipped to suit his needs, he couldn’t help but notice as time went on that some of the furniture was not at its best. Aged and disused, but functional. The washbasin and jug were chipped in places, but only slightly. It is highly likely that some of the old furniture had been moved into this room to accommodate Markus, and any newer things had been moved elsewhere.

He spotted a coat hanger by the door beside the wardrobe, shrugged off his coat and placed it with his hat on the hanger and barely had a moment’s peace before heard a commotion downstairs. It was hard to make out the words, but he hurried from the room and towards the sound. Downstairs, beyond the foyer and further into the house, Markus came across several servants rushing up and down the hallway. 

“Ruth- Ruth, quickly! Prepare a bath, nice and hot!” he heard as a woman came out of one of the rooms, a folded towel clutched in her arms. She was short, with her mousey brown hair tied back neatly in a bun.

“Yes, Mrs. Williams,” Ruth, he realised was the servant girl that had greeted him at the gates the previous day. He watched as she slipped into the room that the woman - the head housekeeper, he recalled - had just left.

“Alice,” Mrs Williams called, and shortly after a little girl popped her head out another doorway. “Put the kettle on, won’t you?” The little girl nodded and ducked back into the room. 

Markus frowned. “Excuse me,” he called out, halting Mrs. Williams mid-step. She whirled around to face him and seemed surprised. “What is going on here? Is something wrong?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” she asked, her eyes narrowed in suspicion, taking half a step back and clutching the towel closer to herself. 

“Markus Manfred,” he said quickly, cutting to the chase. “I arrived this morning.”

“You?” Mrs. Williams started. “But you’re-” then she seemed to catch herself and shook her head. “Of course. The new bodyguard. I’m Kara Williams. Mrs. Williams to you,” she said and Markus nodded. She was a small woman, but her tone was quite matter-of-fact which leant her an air of authority he hadn’t initially noticed. “Master Simon has gone out into the rain again,” she said hastily, gesturing with a tilt of her head for him to follow as she moved quickly through the house and into a large sunroom which looks gloomy on such a miserable day. The floor was tiled and it was decorated with coffee tables and various garden furniture. The glass roof made it seem like the room went on forever. The garden itself was large with manicured bushes and flower beds and beyond that a wide and expanse of grass which allowed for plenty of room for more sporting activities. A gazebo was placed in the left-most side of the garden near a drooping willow tree and beneath it stood the not-quite-familiar figure of Simon Warren, his back to the house and face tilted towards the sky.

Thankfully, an umbrella rack was situated close to the door, with a small selection of umbrellas which had gone thoroughly ignored. The wide bay doors had been opened and left carelessly ajar. “Why all the fuss?” Markus couldn’t help but ask. “Forgive me, but shouldn’t a man be able to walk in his own garden, umbrella or no?”

Mrs. Williams shook her head. “Master Simon has a notoriously delicate constitution,” she said in exasperation. “Now, make yourself useful and bring him inside before he catches his death. The fire in the parlour as been stoked and is ready for him to warm by.”

Markus withheld a sigh and he reached for the door and took an umbrella as he went, opening it as he entered the downpour. When he had been charged with protecting Simon _ from himself _, Markus had thought it an exaggeration on his mother’s part. A woman was always going to worry over her sons, naturally. He hadn’t expected her concerns to include (but apparently was not limited to) Simon’s actual health. Markus mentally amended his job title from bodyguard to handler. It seemed like much more of an apt description. 

If Simon heard his approach, he said nothing and did not acknowledge his presence until he stepped up behind him, holding an umbrella over his head, and apparently disturbing his thought. Simon turned to look at him, blinking water from his eyes as he did so. He went from disgruntled to shocked in a second. “You.”

“Markus will do,” Markus said, offering the blond a faint smile.

That guarded expression was back, and for a moment all they did was regard one another, Simon was soaked through, pale and shaking from the cold of the rain. Markus appeared patient, neatly dressed and curious. It seemed to Markus, as he watched Simon watch him, that there was almost a challenge in his expression. He was waiting for something.

Markus obliged by breaking the silence. “You’re giving your Mrs. Williams a conniption coming out here in this weather without an umbrella.”

“So you’ve come to give me one, have you?” Simon asked although he sounded to Markus’ ear a little belligerent. Markus wasn’t sure what he had been expecting when he signed up for his job, but Simon seemed to have more attitude than he’d initially thought. He wasn’t sure whether or not that would be more or less preferable than the downcast meekness he had witnessed only a day prior.

“I’m afraid that would leave me without,” he said, gesturing with his free hand and demonstrating his lack of a spare umbrella on his person. “The only choice is for us to return to the house together.”

The downturn of Simon’s lips wasn’t angry. The melancholy look was back. “I wanted to be alone,” Simon told him, turning around once again. He chose instead to stare intently at the willow tree in front of them.

“You can do that inside,” Markus said, gesturing needlessly to the house behind him, “where it’s dry.” When Simon didn’t speak up again, Markus stifled another sigh. “Do it for Mrs. Williams?” he asked, “she’s really quite worried.”

There was a long moment of silence before Markus saw Simon’ shoulder slump minutely. He wondered how tightly wound Simon was that such a gesture hardly appeared to release any tension in him whatsoever. “Fine,” he heard Simon mutter before the blond turned and made his way back to the house without waiting for Markus to catch up. Simon, it seemed, was determined to outpace Markus and his apparently reprehensible umbrella.

As soon as Simon re-entered the home, Mrs. Williams was there, throwing a towel over Simon’s head and patting his hair dry. Simon did not protest and took her chastisements in placid silence. By the time Markus entered the threshold, Mrs. Williams was herding Simon out of the room. He set his umbrella down and meandered after them, quite happy to keep his distance. When it became apparent that Simon would be indisposed for some time, having been corralled into the bathroom, Markus returned to his room, where he unpacked his things. 

Markus attended supper with the other servants at the appointed time, where Markus was at last able to properly introduce himself. Markus wasn’t exactly certain how many more times he could bring himself to answer the question ‘who are you?’ and remain calm. The dinner had been awkward initially, although he had found that his role in the morning’s events had impressed Mrs. Williams enough that she had given him permission to call her by her given name in the servant areas of the house. Her approval of him seemed to soften most people’s attitudes towards him quickly. He could tell he made some of them uncomfortable, though he wasn’t sure if that was anything more than simply being a new member of the household.

It wasn’t until after the servants had eaten (and after they had served dinner to their employers) that Markus ventured into the parlour, where he suspected Simon might be. God forbid Lady Warren believe him to be slacking in his duties. Lady Warren was there when he arrived, as were Simon and Daniel. All three amusing themselves: Simon with a book, Daniel with that morning’s newspaper and Lady Warren with her embroidery. 

Hearing movement, Daniel glanced up from his paper as Markus crested the doorway. “Good of you to join us, Markus,” he said and gestured to a corner of the room to an unoccupied armchair with a table beside it, equipped with a lit glass lamp. “You won’t be in anyone’s way over there,” he told Markus who made his way over to the seat quietly. “Feel free to amuse yourself. We’ve plenty of books.”

Markus reached blindly for a bookshelf and grabbed a book at random, not even bothering to read the title of the book before he sat down to make himself comfortable. “Thank you,” he said in a deliberately even tone. He had been spoiled by Carl, he couldn’t help but think. Carl cared what he thought, didn’t care where he sat or what he looked like. He’d received worse treatment in the past, but Daniel’s callousness rubbed him the wrong way. Even though he wouldn’t categorise his conversation (as he applied the term loosely) with Simon as particularly pleasant, at least Markus could say it hadn’t been steeped in ill-concealed animosity. 

Markus counted his blessings that he was employed only to deal with _ one _ brother. 

“Well, I for one am most interested,” Lady Warren piped up, turning her attention to Markus “in how your first day with us has gone.”

It wasn’t so much an expression of curiosity as it was a request for a field report if the expectant tone was anything to go by. Both her son’s turned to regard him, and he surveyed them both in turn. Daniel’s expression was one of open curiosity, for once it seemed, he wasn’t hostile. When he caught Simon’s gaze, it was easy enough to see that save for his eyes, which were wide and pleading, that he tried to keep the rest of his expression as neutral as possible, lips ever so slightly turned downwards.

Markus made his decision. “Perfectly well,” Markus said giving Lady Warren a polite smile. “Your staff are most kind and Master Simon has been the very model of propriety.”

“Young Master Simon,” Daniel corrected, though he glanced teasingly at his brother, who visibly bristled.

“Mere _ minutes _ ,” Simon very nearly snapped. It was the most passionate that Markus had ever seen him. “You are older than me by _ minutes _ . I am not _ young _anything.”

“Of course not, little brother,” Daniel said, sitting forward in his seat, placing his paper down on the coffee table in front of him. The only warning he got was an indignant noise from his brother before he had a cushion hurtling towards him. Daniel lurched to the side too late, the cushion colliding with his shoulder. Daniel let out a bark of laughter and grabbed the cushion and flung the cushion back with equal dexterity. 

Simon raised his arms in front of his face, just barely stopping the cushion from colliding with his face. He let out his own triumphant burst of laughter. Markus found he liked the sound, especially when it came from someone so perpetually miserable.

“Boys!” Lady Warren cried. Their laughter died almost instantly. “Enough roughhousing,” she told them. “Daniel, you should be setting a good example for your brother,” she chastised, focusing her attention on her older (by _ minutes _) son. “Shame on you.”

“Sorry, mother,” Daniel said, sitting back in his seat, cowed.

“And if you insist on being treated like an adult, Simon,” Lady Warren turned her attention to her other son. “Then you should start making responsible decisions, cushion and _ all _.”

Sensing some implication in her tone, Simon’s shoulders tensed, and Markus could already see the smile (that Markus imagined to be the mirror of Daniel’s own) although he could not see it from his current seat, falling from his face. “Yes, mother...” he said before the room lapsed into an uncomfortable silence.

When the tension in the room became too much to bear, Simon stood abruptly and left. Markus abandoned his already forgotten book on the end table next to him and rose fluidly from his chair to follow Simon, more than happy to keep an eye on his charge.

He followed Simon to his bedroom at a distance, quite aware of what it felt like to need one’s privacy, but when he rounded the corner into that wing on the house, Markus very nearly collided with him. Simon stood with his hands folded behind his back. Caught off-guard, Markus couldn’t help but curse and he took an abrupt step back to regain his feet. 

Although Simon’s expression remained reserved, Markus thought he saw Simon’s lips twitch in amusement. “You don’t have to follow me everywhere, you know,” Simon told him in a measured tone.

“I’m inclined to disagree,” Markus said slightly breathless, still gathering his wits. “It is quite literally the only stipulation in my contract.”

“Do you think you’re amusing?” Simon asked, his expression mild, although Markus thought he saw a glint of humour in his eyes.

“I’ve never been accused of such a thing, no,” Markus said, almost conversationally.

“Good,” Simon said, apparently satisfied. “Please leave me be,” he asked, quietly. 

Markus could only nod his assent. 

Simon turned on his heels at that and marched to his bedroom. As he opened the door, he glanced back at Markus, into his room and back again. “Thank you,” he said, so quietly, Markus had to strain to hear him. “For not saying anything earlier.”

Again Markus nodded and watched Simon slip into the privacy of his own room.

They did not speak again for the next three days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lack of decorum! Honestly.


	3. Is This Poetry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus thinks back on the last three days and then finds himself taking a trip into town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Fair warning, and I'm sorry (I feel like an A-hole) but it's the big HOMOPHOBIA and the big RACISM. Remember this is the Victorian Era and everybody sort of sucked in one way or another. Even the nice people.
> 
> If you haven't already, do familiarise yourselves with the tags, and know that I feel like an ass for writing this, but I had an idea and I wanted to share it. I absolutely do NOT condone racism, homophobia OR sexism.
> 
> I'm sorry again.

Over the next three days, Markus realised many things about Simon. The first thing was that Simon rarely seemed to smile, except for himself and Mrs. Williams who assured him that Simon was quite a reserved young man by nature and begged Markus to continue to give Simon the companionship he needed. The notion was one that led Markus to realise the second thing he’d come to learn. Simon did not have friends. While his mother was often kept company elsewhere and his brother was managing the family business, Simon remained at home, alone. Perhaps it was the timing, but Markus thought the obvious lack of correspondence rather telling. The third thing was that Simon was more than capable of going an entire day without uttering a word. The day following his arrival, Markus was almost entirely certain that Simon had not spoken a word from morning to evening; although he was not present when the Warren’s dined that evening, Markus would not have been surprised to find he hadn’t uttered a word. 

Simon, though he acknowledged Markus in small ways, rarely addressed him but something in his air told Markus the lack of conversation wasn’t malicious. Simon often spared Markus a tentative smile or two when their eyes met, and Markus smiled back, patiently. On his second day, Markus watched Simon leaf through a book he wasn’t entirely certain Simon was actually reading, perched on the bay window seat in the conservatory when Mrs. Williams entered the room with a tray and two steaming cups of tea. She handed Simon his drink first, and he offered her a quiet word of thanks and gave her a gentle smile. She made a show of placing a small plate of two almond biscuits on the coffee table that separated Markus from Simon. She handed Markus his cup where he sat in an armchair, reading a comfortable distance from Simon. The cup wasn’t quite as fine as Simon’s own, but Markus hadn’t minded. He too thanked her and she went on her way. 

Markus returned to his book having sipped his tea, only to glance up when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. Simon reached across the table, the saucer of biscuits held between pale fingers. Uncertainly, Markus looked up at Simon, who looked pointedly between the plate and Markus. Catching his meaning Markus hesitantly plucked a biscuit from the dish and smiled a little. “Thank you,” he had said warmly, gently.

Simon’s smile had been little more than a twitch at the corner of his lips. He drew the plate back and placed it on the coffee table wordlessly and Markus took a bite of the biscuit and found himself holding back a hum of delight at the taste. He had seen Kara baking them that morning, and would congratulate her later that day. He might have returned again to his book had he not felt unnerved. Glancing up, he caught Simon watching him, although the other was quick to look away. 

For his part, Markus heeded Kara’s advice and waited patiently. Simon would speak to him again when he was ready, she had promised. When he thought about it, he might have likened Simon’s apparent stand-offishness to that of a wary animal - more than happy to set boundaries and less happy to have his territory encroached upon. Markus would own to being glad that Simon was not aggressive, at least. 

On his third day, it rained again. 

Markus was bored. Lady Warren was in the parlour seeing to her post and other household matters and Daniel was once again out of the home. The midday sun was obscured by bleak clouds. He felt lethargic and useless. Simon, apparently, was a hermit. It was a wonder Markus was even hired to begin with, and even more so the seemingly outlandish claims that Simon was the sort of man capable of defying parental law. It was difficult to imagine that two young men like Simon and Daniel were capable of disobedience, given what little he has seen of the family so far. Lady Warren was quick to bring them both to heel and they were quick to please her.

In an attempt to stave off the boredom, Markus had retrieved his sketchbook from his room and settled in the conservatory with Simon once again, coming to the conclusion that this was a favourite haunt of his within the house. Markus took up a position in the corner of the room, sat slightly hunched in his chair with his legs crossed at the knee, resting his small sketchbook over his leg as he drew, charcoal in hand. His gaze fell about the room, sketching random furniture and the arches in the doorway. Eventually, he settled on a drawing a vague silhouette of Simon where he sat by the bay window, sitting with his back against the wall, one leg thrown over the cushions as he watched the skies. He was reading that morning’s paper.

Lady Warren had been quite insistent that Simon read it, although that only seemed to make Simon more reluctant to do so. It seemed to Markus that he was only reading it now out of a morbid sense of curiosity. He’d seen Simon throw glances at it now and again and it seemed that he had finally given in to the urge. Markus returned to his aimless sketching, lulled by the occasional crinkling of the newspaper as pages were turned into contentedness. 

His peace, however, was disturbed by a deep and rattling gasp. He watched as Simon drew the paper closer to him and was surprised to find the paper shaking violently in Simon’s hands, knuckles white with the pressure of holding so tightly onto the paper. Markus cast his sketchbook aside and stood, making his way to Simon’s side, concerned.

Looking over Simon’s shoulder as he approached, he could see the headline of the article he was reading and the sketch of a young man in what appeared to be a newsboy cap. He looked stern, but even in a paper’s profile sketch artist’s hands, his eyes seemed almost soulful.

Markus recalled the way Simon recoiled sharply from his touch as if burned, apparently having violently startled the man. Simon didn’t even glance at him as he stood, throwing the paper onto the bay window seat blindly as he hurried out of the room, a hand coming up to cover his mouth as if to stifle himself. The glimpse of pain Markus saw on his face as more than enough to tell him that was ever Simon saw had deeply distressed him.

Despite his obvious woe, Markus opted not to follow him, instead choosing to leave Simon to deal with whatever grief he was experiencing in peace. Of course, Markus’ curiosity was piqued, and he picked up the newspaper to read the offending article. He frowned at the headline.

  
  


**_Court Condemns Sodomite to Death_** .

  
  


Markus’ gaze flicked to the door that Simon had fled through before returning to the paper. It detailed a man by the name of Rupert Travis was to be hanged in two days after the courts spent the day in deliberation. He had been reported by _ sources unknown _and had found his way into police custody. The only conclusion Markus could draw from Simon’s reaction was that he had known the man in question. The thought made his stomach drop with a surge of empathy which somehow succeeded in making his feel vaguely queasy.

He dropped the newspaper back onto a coffee table as he too exited the room, his own sketchbook forgotten. He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing until he found himself at Simon’s door, hand suspended in midair, closed in a fist. His other hand was bracing him on the doorframe as if to give him the strength to follow through on whatever vague plan Markus had. Markus did not enjoy the uncertainty he felt at that moment. It was not in his nature to be indecisive, but he was also aware that whatever he could have said or done would not fix whatever it was that Simon was going through.

In the end, Markus’ fingers stretched out, the tips of his fingers pressed against the door and his shoulders sagged in defeat after a moment. He sighed softly before he turned and disappeared into his own room for a time, leaving Simon undisturbed. 

On the fourth day, Simon did not emerge from his room. 

When he did not appear at breakfast he was called to investigate Simon’s absence. He knocked on Simon’s door received no response. When he tried again, all he heard was the rustle of bedsheets. Markus was at least relieved Simon had not made one of his fabled escapes. But, resigned to the fact that Simon was going to remain uncommunicative, Markus left with another plan in mind.

He asked Kara to prepare Simon tea and some pastries from breakfast that morning and take it up to his room. She did so, looking more than concerned herself. In fact, quite a few members of staff appeared worried at the revelation that Simon would not emerge from his room. It was upon Kara’s return that Simon was claiming illness. Markus marvelled a little at the care they seemed to how Simon when he realised that Simon remained the main topic of conversation throughout the day, although none of it was derogatory or accusatory. Whatever ailment kept Simon in be that day seemed genuine, at least to them. Markus chose to keep to himself the speculation that it was not an illness that kept him abed, but grief. 

Ruth and Kara made periodical trips to his room with fresh teas or light lunches, all of which went untouched.

* * *

When morning came, Markus made his way upstairs into the main body of the house after he and the other servants in the house took their breakfast. He made a habit of remaining in a nearby hallway to the dining room where Simon and his family took their meals. He read a copy of the morning paper, the news thankfully much milder than it had been a few days prior. Markus had skimmed the paper every morning since that day to gauge any potentially distressing news. Simon had isolated himself the day prior and though there had been no fresh news of the Rupert Travis person that Simon seemed so concerned with, it did not mean that there wouldn’t be any today. Markus couldn’t say that he enjoyed the sport the papers made of telegraphing one’s private life or their suffering, but he truly hoped that Rupert had not been completely forgotten. 

It hadn’t made the front page, but there was indeed an article about Rupert Travis, on page two after a fresh story of one socialite or another making an ass out of themselves in public view. Said socialite found himself and some of his companions held overnight in one of London’s many constabulary institutions’ holding cells. At least page two allowed Rupert _ some _dignity. He did not know Rupert but was pleased on his behalf that he would not be made into more of a spectacle. Markus was pleased that Rupert’s trial and sentencing had not passed completely into obscurity if nothing else. It was a shame, however, to find that the papers had little in the way of good to say.

Markus was glad to find that Simon did emerge from his room to take breakfast with his family the next day, although judging by the needling Markus could hear from the dining room it seemed plain that Simon’s appetite was not what it should have been. Still, when Simon emerged from the dining room, looking withdrawn and fatigued, Markus stood and tucked the paper under his arm.

Instead of walking by him as per usual, however, Simon stopped in front of him, hesitating. It took him a moment before he turned to meet Markus’ gaze. As close as they were, Simon only had to look up slightly to meet his eyes. There was a brief moment in which Markus realised Simon was examining him, quite possibly for the first time. Markus had learnt long ago that it would take time for acquaintances to become used to his eyes as they possessed the unusual quirk of being two different colours.

Markus couldn’t help the small amused smile that spread across his face, and Simon’s expression seemed to falter as if realising for the first time that he was staring. “Oh-” He blurted out, quickly averting his gaze, eyeing a vase on a nearby table. “I-” he cleared his throat. “We’ll be going out today,” Simon told him, perhaps a little awkwardly, gesturing for Markus to follow him.

Markus obeyed and discarded his newspaper on a nearby table, trailing a few steps behind Simon. They both took their coats and hats from Avery, who stood by the front door, having apparently been notified of Simon’s intentions earlier that morning. “Thank you,” Simon said, as put on his coat and took his hat. Markus did the same, offering Avery a polite nod and a smile as the pair left the house. Awaiting them outside was the carriage. The coachman sat ready for them, and Avery followed after them, perching himself on the back of the carriage.

The carriage was very fine, with wide windows and purple velveteen drapes and upholstery. The carriage itself was a deep dark wood which contrasted sharply with Simon’s own ensemble of pale blues and cream topped off with a cream gambler’s hat. Markus himself wore a simple grey suit with a turquoise waistcoat and a grey bowler hat. As the Carriage began to move, the pair found themselves sitting in amicable silence. 

As the two of them rode together, Markus caught not only his reflection in the glass windows but also that of Simon - who he realised quickly was examining him via the glass, apparently intent on being discreet in his assessment. Of course, upon realising that he had been caught staring, Simon averted his gaze quickly, looking somewhere between ashamed and sheepish. “I-I’m sorry,” Simon said quickly, and Markus offered him a patient smile. “It’s just, never noticed-”

“My eyes?” Markus asked, regarding Simon with a raised eyebrow, his smile relaxing into an amused smirk. “It’s alright,” he said. “You can ask.”

Simon seemed to relax, and corrected his posture, sitting up slightly and crossing his legs at the ankle. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen eyes like yours before,” Simon said. “The terms for the condition escapes me.”

“The terminology you’re looking for is ‘Heterochromia,” Markus explained, watching Simon. He had the faintest blush on his cheeks, embarrassed no doubt, at having been caught staring twice in a very short span of time. “My parents and perhaps God gifted me with an unusual appearance.”

“I think you’re quite striking,” Simon said quickly as if to reassure Markus of something - an imagined potential insecurity perhaps. “Your eyes, of course. Not you, not that you aren’t, I-”

Markus took pity and cut the young lord off. “I understand,” he said, laughing a little. Simon’s blush flared. “Very kind of you to say,” Markus finished politely.

“Forgive me,” Simon said softly, after a period of silence. “I don’t mean to be rude.”

“Curiosity isn’t a crime,” Markus said, sitting back in his seat. “In fact, I prefer it to silence.”

Simon raised a brow. “Is that a dig at me?” he asked, in good humour.

Markus laughed a little and smiled, Simon gave him a little smile of his own in response. “More a statement of fact - while there is beauty in silence, I find conversation more enlivening.”

Simon’s expression fell again as he seemed to school it into something more neutral. For a moment, Markus could only watch as Simon swayed gently to and fro with the movement of the carriage. “I think it is in your best interest not to engage me more than necessary,” he warned Markus quietly, somberly. 

“Why so?” Markus asked, his brow furrowing and his lips setting themselves into a grim line. The air was thick and stale in the carriage where outside a gentle breeze blew through the streets and people were pushed along as if by an urging hand to a reluctant child. The chill in the air was felt by all. “Have I offended you?”

“No, of course not,” Simon said, watching the world pass them by now, unable to look at Markus. He felt small up against the other man, who seemed so strong-willed and certain. The set of his shoulders betrayed his confidence, despite the disadvantage of his birth. “I merely suggest that for the sake of your job, you leave me well alone.”

“But alone you are so much more vocal,” Markus said, his expression one of mild discontent. Simon found he disapproved of the look. “Or perhaps you find the privacy a carriage affords us to be more agreeable than the halls of your own home.”

Simon frowned, seeing Markus watch his face via the reflection in the window. “We are hardly alone,” he commented, making a vague gesture to the carriage as a whole. “With a coachman and a footman,” and then his brow furrowed. “And more to the point, I think you overstep, sir.”

“Perhaps so,” Markus said, although he spoke with an authority that Simon had never heard before, not even from his own father. To Simon, Markus sounded like he could have been a world leader - undeterred as he was by Simon’s admonishment. Were it not for the colour of his skin, Simon would have expected great things. “But I would much prefer to know for whom it is I work,” Markus proclaimed. “And if I must corner you in a carriage to do so, so I shall.”

“You work for my mother,” Simon snapped defensively, turning to meet Markus’ gaze - it was an intense thing, to witness the surety not only in his voice but in his eyes and the set of his jaw, all complimented by wonderfully dusky skin. “Lady- Lady Warren...” Simon finished, a little overcome by the thought.

“The way I see it, I work for you,” Markus told Simon, relaxing slightly and his tone slipping into one of conversational ease. “Command me into silence Lord Simon, and I shall never speak another word to you so long as I breathe.”

Simon’s face froze in shock and his face flared with embarrassment. Markus, for his part, remained mostly passive, to spare yet more blushes. “I thought you were the son of a painter,” Simon bit out. “Not a poet.”

“Adopted,” Markus said with a smile. Simon did not seem surprised. Of course, Markus might have been impressed by that had he not already been formally introduced to Simon beforehand. “And although I hardly consider that poetry, I have read a few books in my time. I would hardly consider myself a learned poet or even an artist for all the time I spend on either.”

Before Simon could respond, however, the carriage rolled to a stop and Simon took the time between then and Avery opening the carriage door to collect himself. Simon seemed to worm his way past Avery faster than he could open the door. Markus exited the carriage at a more controlled pace, sharing a look with Avery as he did so. He read the concern on the footman’s face and he smiled, whispering a quick “not to worry,” before he followed behind Simon at a pace.

It did not take them long to find the store Simon was looking for. A small flower shop with wide windows and a painted green storefront. The words ‘The bouquet boutique’ written in golden script above the shop. Outside, there were flower pots filled with small succulents and herb plants, and inside Markus could see through the windows and array of flowers he could scarcely begin to name. He was however amused to find that the flowers had been arranged by colour. As the pair stepped into the store, Markus observed a small table in the centre which had multiple bouquets displayed upon it with varying levels of extravagance, to demonstrate the florist’s skills no doubt, as well as give an idea of the services available.

“Wait here,” Simon told Markus before he hurried off, reaching the counter as a pair of customers left the cashier’s counter, their purchases in hand. There were a few customers, although none particularly grabbed his interest. He settled on trying to guess the names of flowers but found that simply being able to read the signage next to the flowers in question took the fun out of it.

It was several minutes before Simon returned to his side and bade him follow. “We’ll have to return in an hour for the flowers,” Simon explained. “We shall find something else to do in the meantime.”

Markus nodded, falling into step beside Simon. “If you don’t mind my asking,” Markus began. “What is the occasion?”

“Oh,” Simon started, uncertainly. “Uh, a late birthday gift,” he explained. “I was so...indisposed yesterday I quite forgot.”

Markus chose not to pry, although he would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t curious as to the nature of his relationship if there was one, and he hadn’t imagined it, to Rupert Travis. So, Markus simply nodded, and the pair walked in amiable silence toward the nearby park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief history lesson:
> 
> The last men to be hanged for homosexuality were hanged in 1835 (in Britain).
> 
> The death penalty for homosexuality (detailed in a...wonderful...piece of legislation called 'The Buggery Act') wasn't revoked until 1861, where it was then only punishable by jail time. 
> 
> Since 1806, 8921 men were persecuted for homosexuality, but of that 404 were sentenced to death, and of THAT, 54 men were executed.
> 
> I know it's super harsh, but I'm not making this up for drama's sake. This shit really happened.


	4. Flower Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While waiting for Simon's flower arrangements, Markus and Simon enter into a debate, and Markus meets a long-suffering old acquaintance with a new friend of his own.

It was just approaching 11 o’clock when Markus and Simon made it to the park, walking alongside one another, a passing cyclist nodding his appreciation at Simon who had moved aside as he walked to allow the man to pass. Such interruptions were not uncommon at parks such as these. They ambled together towards the large duck pond on the far side of the pond where families sat nearby on picnic blankets, even in with the chill in the air, watching their children play and feed the ducks.

“Oh,” Simon spoke up suddenly. “It’s Sunday tomorrow,” he said more to himself than anyone else. “I expect you’ll be attending church with us.”

Markus paused, reaching up and needless adjusting his hat. “Do you suppose?” he asked, sceptically. “I was under the impression that our Mr. Brinkley would be holding something of a sermon for the servants who couldn’t attend Mass tomorrow.” 

“Well, of course,” Simon said. “The observation of religion takes precedence even to those with no time to properly observe,” Simon said. There was something odd in his tone that Markus couldn’t quite place. Simon for his part did not seem particularly zealous as he spoke, perhaps reciting something he had heard over and again. “But as I understand your duty is to watch me, and therefore, you will be attending Mass whether you like it or not.”

“I doubt the purpose of attendance is enjoyment,” Markus said, his expression thoughtful.

“Although it helps,” Simon said, chuckling a little.

Markus conceded the point with a smile. “Although it helps,” he intoned, gently.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they finally approached the pond. Simon waved over a girl - no more than thirteen by Markus’ reckoning - who held a basket of bread over one arm. Markus hadn’t been paying too much attention, but he realised she had been calling out to passers-by, peddling her wares. Obediently, she approached, and Simon negotiated two bread rolls and paid her happily. She seemed surprised initially, and it took a moment for Markus to realise why. He had given her more than she had asked for. When asked, he assured her he was quite aware and then sent her on her way. She offered her thanks enthusiastically, and then scurried away, perhaps thinking he might soon change his mind.

Markus took the roll that Simon offered him and they approached the pond together. 

“If I may ask,” Simon said, fingers digging into the remaining roll, tossing a small chunk into the lake and watching a duckling paddle eagerly over to the offered bounty. “Is there a particular reason you don’t enjoy attending church?”

Marus raised a brow and regarded Simon in puzzlement. “What gave you that impression?”

“Your lack of enthusiasm.”

Markus let out a bark of laughter and an alarmed quack filled the air. Simon let out a rippling pearl of laughter at Markus as he turned his head downward to look at the startled duck, who Markus thought had no right to look quite so offended. Clearing his throat, Markus tore some bread from his roll and tossed it to the bird, whose attitude towards him changed abruptly with the addition of food into their relationship.

“I’ll not point out your own lack of religious fervour, then,” Markus said, turning his attention back to Simon. 

“No, that would be monstrously rude,” Simon agreed.

“And you?” Markus asked, apparently quite willing to offend. “Why do you dislike church?”

Simon paused, and Markus realised that Simon was genuinely considering the question. “I find little comfort in it,” he explained, slowly, each of his words deliberately and carefully chosen. Markus had expected Simon to continue, but at length when he did not, Markus finally spoke up.

“Why?”

“No,” Simon said, pointedly. “You must give me your reason now,” he told Markus, although he did not look at him, instead choosing to throw more bread to the ducks. “Do not pretend I did not ask the question first.”

Markus was silent for a moment before he seemed to decide on his response. “As you command,” he said, almost playfully. He did not miss the incredulous look that Simon gave him out of the corner of his eye, apparently determined to downplay his surprise. “Even good Christian folk make me feel unwelcome in the house of God,” he said, throwing more bread to the ducks, watching them splash around in the water for the morsel. He watched the head of a duck dive beneath the water to catch a sinking scrap, it’s tailfeathers waggling indelicately in the air before he resurfaced smoothly. “It is difficult to bask in God’s love when his flock are so unwilling to accept the black sheep that I wonder if He teaches acceptance at all.”

Simon was not foolish enough to miss the thinly veiled metaphor. “I daresay that sounds almost like blasphemy.”

“Was it not Jesus who said ‘Love thy neighbour as thyself’?” Markus asked, perhaps rhetorically, a hand gesturing towards the sky dramatically.

“Yes,” Simon agreed slowly, cautiously. He too focused on throwing bread to the birds. “But, they also crucified him for it.” 

Markus might have shot back some glib reply, but something in Simon’s stance changed his mind. He had become rigid, and his posture had straightened. Markus could see the tense lines of his shoulders and a certain kind of hardness of his expression that Markus hadn’t been expecting. Markus found himself almost blindsided by the sudden change in his demeanour. He hesitated but eventually came to the conclusion to continue their discussion, albeit more cautiously for the time being. “He died for a cause he believed in,” Markus said. “Religiously motivated or not; whatever your views, some would call it admirable.”

“Martyrdom is foolish,” Simon said, decisively. “Dying doesn’t _ solve _ anything,” he said and although his attention was fixed on the lake, Markus couldn’t miss that familiar misery that sat so uncomfortably at-home on Simon’s face. 

Markus frowned. “So you would rather he sit quietly in the shadows, while his people suffered?” he asked, perhaps a little annoyed.

Simon’s turned his head, his brows furrowed and his lips were set in a fine line. “That isn’t what I meant,” he told Markus, turning to face him completely now. Markus did the same.

“What exactly did you mean?” Markus asked bitterly, throwing the last of his bread carelessly into the pond, neverminding the way the ducks scrambled for the remains of the roll. “That he ask nicely or beg instead?” Markus continued, turning sharply to face Simon. “Beg for the right to worship or live as he wished?!” he was loud enough now that he caught the attention of passersby, some of whom scurried past quickly with Markus’ rising anger. 

“I mean,” Simon started pointedly, meeting his gaze evenly. Where Markus felt impassioned by the discussion, Simon seemed resolute, firm and steadfast; although there was something so inherently resigned about the expression. It wasn’t passion that fueled Simon’s convictions. “There’s no point in fighting a battle you can’t win,” he explained. “Not when it endangers the people you love.”

“So, you’re telling me there’s not a thing in this world that you would die for?” Markus asked, his expression one of thoughtful curiosity. Simon could see, however, that Markus’ anger had not dissipated entirely. “Nothing you would fight for?”

Their friendly discussion had become something else along the way and it didn’t seem as if Simon was at all intimidated by it. Simon sighed and he closed his eyes, taking a moment to collect himself. “Are you familiar with the work of Jeremy Bentham?” he asked, regarding Markus calmly now.

“What?” Markus asked dumbly, the change in subject jarring him from his anger.

“He is a philosopher,” Simon explained patiently. “A utilitarian philosopher, to be more precise,” he continued, and Markus frowned, although he seemed to listen intently. “The main principle of his ideology being that it is, to quote, ‘the greatest happiness of the greatest number that is the measure of right and wrong’.”

Markus seemed puzzled by the statement. “Jesus died for all of humanity,” he said reasonably. “How could that not be cause for great happiness?”

Simon smiled, although something in his expression souring a little. “He died,” he explained. “But humanity’s problems were never solved. If the bible is to be believed, Jesus gave humanity a clean slate...which we quickly dirtied again. He brought very little joy to the world, I think.”

“And you called _ me _blasphemous.”

Simon opened his mouth to reply but found himself interrupted suddenly. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen!” a voice called from not so far away. A deep baritone that sounded tired and somewhat bored. 

Markus and Simon turned, curious. Both her surprised to find themselves being approached by a man in a dark suit and an ugly, aged waistcoat that seemed some years old. The pattern had quite gone out of style. He was a large man, barrel-chested and strong-looking despite his age. He was not clean-shaven and he appeared rough around the edges. Beside him was a younger man wearing a constable’s uniform, brown hair and bright eyes shadowed beneath a policeman’s hat.

“Lieutenant Anderson,” Markus said, surprised. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The young constable looked confused. “You know these gentlemen, sir?”

Lieutenant Anderson ran a hand through his hair as he approached, sparing the constable a glance before he stopped in front of the two waiting gentlemen and sighed. “Maybe,” he started. “We were stopped by a few concerned parties disturbed by an argument by the lakeside.” When both gentlemen had the decency to look sheepish, the Lieutenant continued. “I see it hasn’t come to blows, though.”

“No,” Simon piped up suddenly, stepping forward and holding out his hand for Lieutenant Anderson to take. “Simon Warren, Lieutenant,” he introduced, shaking hands politely. “How is it you know Markus?” he asked, glancing briefly at the man in question, who smiled a little.

“We had a break-in some months ago,” he explained. “The lieutenant worked the case for us. It was due to his work that the criminal was caught,” he told Simon with a smile. “Lieutenant Anderson has taken supper at the Manfred Manor a number of times since.”

“Yes, Lieutenant Anderson is quite gifted at his job!” the young constable piped up, smiling. “Sorry, do you mean to say that you’re acquainted with Carl Manfred?”

“Dear God, yes,” Lieutenant Anderson said, with a long-suffering sigh. “Markus is the adopted son of Carl Manfred. He gets that a lot - don’t get over-excited, okay? Sorry,” he said. “I neglected to introduce my bright-eyed and bushy-tailed subordinate: Police Constable Connor Stern,” he said, gesturing to his youthful companion, who nodded politely. “He has recently transferred from another division, and I have the pleasure of his rather...enthusiasic...company.”

“I see,” Simon began. “Is transferring a regular occurance?” 

“No, but I requested the transfer,” Connor added eagerly. “You see, the news of the case spread quickly - given that the target was such a high-profile individual: Carl Manfred, as you’re aware, Mr. Manfred, sir. Obviously.” Simon nodded a little, and Markus had to stifle a laugh at the expression on his face - the face of a man who had just begun to realise they had pulled the lid off a can of worms. “When I heard about Hank’s-” Connor paused, and glanced at the Lieutenant, who gave him a scolding look, but said nothing. “Lieutenant Anderson’s methods, I thought that I _ had _ to learn from him.”

“Alright, alright,” Hank said, cutting off Connor’s tide of praise. “That’ll do,” he said, and then looked between Markus and Simon pointedly. “In all seriousness, there’s not a problem here, is there?”

“No, Lieutenant,” Simon shook his head, looking minutely grateful. “A spirited debate is all.”

“Who won?” Connor asked.

Markus let out a snort of laughter at that and shook his head. “I’m not sure yet,” he said. “But I think I might have been losing-”

“Indubitably,” Simon said.

“-By merit of you being the last person to have spoken.”

“Okay boys,” Hank spoke up again, waving a hand. “Take your debate home with you,” he said. “I don’t want to have to deal with more complaints.”

“Of course, Hank,” Markus said agreeably. “You must go and see Carl again,” he told the man, adjusting his coat slightly. “It’s been a while and I think he could use the company.”

Hank nodded. “I’ll get in touch,” he said. After that, the policemen departed, having done their duty.

Simon pinned Markus with a curious look, but merely turned back towards the lake, shredding the last of his otherwise forgotten bread and tossing it into the lake. “Come,” Simon said. “I’m sure the flowers are ready by now.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


They returned to the store by midday. Simon slipped inside and Markus followed dutifully, glad to escape the chill in the air. Winter was fast approaching and Markus required a new pair of gloves, having misplaced on of his current pair between the Manfred manor and the Warren own manor house. But, when Simon beckoned him forward, Markus followed, albeit more curious than before.

At the counter, Simon reminded the clerk of his order and it did not take him long before he was presented with two bouquets. One was a bright array of crocus and dahlia flowers, with a few snowdrops tie together with a vivid purple ribbon. The second was much larger - long-stemmed white lilies, white orchids and hydrangeas and oddly enough, a single red rose. After a brief hesitation, Simon handed Markus the larger of the two bouquets, which he knew cost a small fortune give that some of the flowers were out-of-season and had likely taken some effort to grow. Simon took the smaller, colourful bouquet and left the story with Markus in tow (having already paid the florist but an hour before).

They made their way back to the carriage. Simon had been silent for some time, his earlier exuberance having melted away somewhat the closer to the carriage they grew. He did, however, make a quick stop at a small confectionery store and come out again brandishing a small bag of sweets at Markus before slipping them into the pocket of his coat.

“Another gift?” Markus asked congenially, to which Simon merely nodded and offered Markus a small smile as they, at last, reached the carriage.

The journey home was silent. Markus realised somewhere along the way that he was holding what amounted to a funeral arrangement, and as Simon clutched at his own colourful arrangement, Markus realised that Simon was very deliberately not looking at Markus. Markus even dared to venture that Simon couldn’t even bear to carry them.

When they reached the manor, Simon slipped out of the carriage again and Markus followed. “Do follow me,” Simon said as they approached the door, having thanked the coachman and Avery beforehand. It didn’t take long for Markus to realise that Simon was leading him toward the servant’s wing of the manor, glancing around briefly before doing so as if to make sure nobody could see him. He was, of course, aware that it was somewhat unseemly for Simon to venture into that part of the house, particularly with no apparent reason.

They found their way downstairs into the kitchens, where Kara was bustling around the kitchens, preparing what looked like a late lunch, likely for Simon, as well as the servant’s midday meal. “Mrs. Williams?” Simon asked tentatively as if trying not to interrupt her focus.

She startled anyway and whirled around, knife in one hand and her free hand on her breast, soothing her breathing. “Master Simon,” she breathed out with a relieved smile, quick to place the knife back down on the counter. He stepped further into the room, as did Markus, closing the kitchen door behind him. “It’s been a while since you last visited us.”

Markus wasn’t sure whether he should be surprised that Simon made a habit of visiting the servant’s wing, given what he had heard Lady Warren lamenting over when he had first met the woman. “Indeed,” he agreed. “I was looking for Ruth. Is she available.”

Kara looked confused for a moment, but a look of realisation passed over her face and she nodded. “I’ll fetch her,” Kara said, moving into the small hallway leading into the rest of the servant’s quarters and ringing a bell rigged upon the wall. Markus heard it vaguely from deeper within and assumed Ruth was not far. “She’ll be here shortly,” Kara assured Simon as she re-entered the room. “Do sit,” she said, gesturing to the large dining table where the staff took their meals. Simon obeyed and took the proffered seat, although Markus remained standing. 

Looking between the two men, Kara’s hand moving to her apron, bunching the fabric up on her hands, nervously. “Simon sweetheart,” she started with a tentative sort of affection in her tone, nervous of Markus’ reaction he suspected, judging by the way she glanced at him briefly as she gestured to the flowers in Markus’ arms. “Are those…?”

Simon glanced briefly at the flowers, unperturbed by her endearment. “Oh yes,” he said quickly, turning his attention to his lap, where he held the flowers in his own arms. “Would you mind placing them in some water - here, of course.”

Kara nodded and hurried forward to take the flowers from Markus’ arms with a gentle smile. “Of course,” she said. “I know just the place to put them,” she told him.

It was then that Ruth entered the room, Alice on her tail, announced by the clicking of their heels on the wooden floors, wiping her hands on her apron as she did so. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Williams,” Ruth started, surprised. “I didn’t realise you had company.”

“I’m here to see you, actually,” Simon said, standing quickly, revealing the bouquet as he stepped around the table to approach her. “I do apologise for the interruption, but I realised I had missed your birthday.”

She was wide-eyed but took the flowers into her arms when Simon offered them to her reflexively. She seemed to flush, pleasantly surprised. “They’re beautiful...”

“I’m so glad you like them,” he said. “I consulted Mrs. Williams months ago and wasn’t quite sure if I had remembered correctly the sort of things you liked.”

“Months?” Ruth said, her smile wider now. “Master Simon, you needn’t have gotten me a gift - thankful as I am, of course.”

Simon shook his head and Markus found himself quite surprised at the exchange. Everyone’s demeanour seemed to change, more relaxed now than before, and even more so here than anywhere else in the house. Even with him, Simon was not quite so relaxed. He supposed the others had the advantage of time to know one another. “I wanted to,” he said. “But I shan’t keep you ladies much longer,” he said, stepping away from the pair. He offered them a polite bow and they curtsied. Simon did not indicate for him to follow but at a loss for what else to do, Markus left with him, deciding to take some time to absorb the exchange he had just seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:
> 
> Jeremy Bentham was a real philosopher and was in fact an advocate for gay rights (although his papers on the subject weren't published in his lifetime) amongst other things, including women's rights. 
> 
> I think he'll be cropping up now and again.
> 
> Do tell me what you thought. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. This was a difficult one. At one point their "spirited debate" turned into something quite different - something about hypothetical situations that would never happen - and it wasn't what I wanted at all - but you know how characters can get. They sort of write themselves at times. So I had to go back and rewrite entire sections. It was a toughy.


	5. Uncommon Angels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Markus' curiosity gets the better of him, and when Sunday rolls around, he finds himself witness to something special.

That evening, while the Warren’s dined together in the house proper, Markus joined the household employees in the servant’s quarters as he had done every night since his arrival. The household cook, a by the name of Grace who had kind hazel eyes and hair the colour of chestnuts and an inherently cautious nature bustled around the kitchen, preparing the meal for the rest of the household. Alice stood on a stool in front of the sink and washed dishes dutifully and diligently. It had long since been impressed upon Alice that dishes were to be done swiftly, but handled gently. Some of the crockery was worth more than any of them might make in a year. Alice, it seemed exhibited much pride and care in her task. Markus hadn’t taken a great deal of interest in the dishware, however, thus far he had neither seen nor heard anything about damaged plates. He counted that as a point in Alice’s favour.

Now, however, Markus stood on the landing of the servant’s quarters between the men’s wing and the women’s bedrooms. This area of the household, while on the first floor could only be accessed through the kitchens on the floor below, preventing more respectable guests from mistakenly wandering into the wrong area of the house and causing confusion or embarrassment. Also on the landing was Mr. Brinkley’s office. He was an elderly gentleman (although he does not consider himself as such) with a slight figure and a sharp tongue. Mr. Brinkley had proven to be the stubborn sort. He was the head Butler and as such was responsible for managing the servants and budget on a daily basis. Mr. Brinkley was seldom in his office save for the evening when it was his habit to go over the books. Although he had not been in the household for very long, Markus got the impression that going over the accounts as he did (meticulously, and to the point of ridiculousness), that Mr. Brinkley often stayed up into the wee small hours of the morning.

Markus aimed to catch the man in his office before dinner, although he did not appear to be there. Instead, he found himself staring at the bouquet that Simon had handed off to Kara earlier that day. It had found its way into a clay vase - simple in design and inexpensive. The bouquet was positioned in such a way that the red rose within was obscured behind a wall of white. He frowned a little and stepped forwards, turning the vase around, and adjusting it, putting the rose on display. 

Hearing the tap of little feet on the stairway, Markus turned just in time to see Alice reach the top of the stairs, apron grasped in her hands, apparently drying them. Looking up, she gasped, startled, not having expected anyone to be present. “Mr. Markus, sir…!” she said, a hand flying up to her lips, covering her mouth as she collected herself.

Markus gave her a bemused, apologetic sort of smile and turned to face her. “Forgive me, Miss Alice,” he said quietly to her. “I hadn’t meant to frighten you.”

She smiled shyly at him and nodded, although she said nothing. 

The presence of the bouquet weighed heavily on Markus, and he felt something like guilt churning within him when he looked at Alice, and the words he had resisted saying for so long finally left him. “Can I ask you something, Miss Alice?” If he could get any answers out of anyone, it would be her, if she knew anything at all.

She paused her gentle smile falling slightly. She was examining him, he realised when she did not immediately speak up. She was watching his face, and she seemed wary. She’d seen something in his expression, possibly his guilt, or his uncertainty. Whatever she saw, however, it did not stop her from nodding her ascent.

“Do you know who that bouquet is for?”

She blinked and after a moment, something like understanding flickered across her face. “Mother said those are for Mr. Travis,” she explained simply, answering his question.

Markus nodded slightly and looked puzzled, turning his attention once more to the bouquet. By the time he looked back at Alice she had moved, and he very nearly startled himself to find that she had moved to stand beside him, also examining the flowers. “Who was Mr. Travis?”

There was a brief pause, but when Alice answered, Markus felt as if he were on the brink of understanding. “He was our gardener,” she explained. “But he left months ago.”

And then Markus was left floundering in a duck pond, figuratively speaking. “He quit his position here?”

Alice nodded. “I’m not sure why,” she said, looking up at him. Her voice had gotten lower and she glanced around, gesturing for Markus to lean in closer. He obeyed, half-kneeling as she whispered gently to him. “Nobody likes to talk about Mr. Travis.”

Markus frowned and whispered, “If I were to ask Mrs. Williams about him, what would she say, Miss Alice?”

Alice vehemently shook her head. “Mother and Mr. Brinkley would get mad,” she told him. “Mother doesn’t like Mr. Brinkley much, but they agree on Mr. Travis and if they agree...”

“It’s bad?” Markus asked with a raised eyebrow, and Alice simply nodded. “What did Mr. Travis do…?”

Alice took a step back then and shook her head. “I don’t know,” she told him with a guilty shrug. “I just know that he left really late one night and Lord Warren wasn’t happy”

Markus straightened up slowly with a frown. “Simon?”

When Alice opened her mouth to respond, she was interrupted by a call from downstairs. “Alice?” it was Kara’s voice. “Have you washed for dinner yet?”

Alice jumped into action. “I’ll be ready soon,” she called softly and hurried off to the women’s quarters, leaving Markus behind.

Markus sighed, his quest for answers stalled by the siren song of mealtime. So, he dutifully marched downstairs into the kitchen where the rest of the staff were slowly beginning to gather around the table at the places set out for them, Grace setting out the food. It wasn’t long before everyone was seated and grace was said. Dinner passed in a pleasant blur and although he was full, his conversation with Alice had only whetted his appetite where his curiosity was concerned. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Sunday morning arrived in a flurry of movement, breakfast was light, bright and early. The Warrens had modest breakfasts on Sunday, Markus was told, so preparations didn’t take quite a long, and everyone wanted to be at church on time. The Warrens wore their Sunday best. Lady Warren wore a cream dress with yellow accents and fine lace. Her sons were dressed in neat black suits and short tophats. They looked finer than Markus had ever seen them, and had even switched out their signature colour - pale blue for Simon and a darker blue for Daniel - for something more subdued. Their waistcoats were a simple grey, and other than their hair, only their pocket watches and the subtle pattern on their waistcoats differentiated them. Simon’s pocket watch was silver, and Daniel’s was golden. 

Given that parents had a tendency to dress their children in matching clothes as they grew up, Markus couldn’t help but think of the absolute nightmare it must have been to tell the two brothers apart when they were boys. It made him wonder if they had long ago mutually decided to designate each other their signature colours, both to appease their mother and assert a kind of independence from one another. He wouldn’t have put it passed Lady Warren to want her sons to ‘match’ until the day she died. 

Simon had warned Markus that he might be expected to join them at church, and that is exactly what came to pass. Lady Warren had informed Markus of her decision the night before when she crossed paths with him on her way to retire for the evening. 

Several of the household servants had left earlier that morning to walk to the church whilst some stayed behind to mind the house and have a small bible reading session with Mr. Brinkley. Avery was helping Lady Warren into the carriage along with Daniel when Markus realised that Simon was absent. Glancing around, he spotted the man by the servant’s staircase, knelt down in front of Miss Alice, placing what Markus recognised as the small bag of sweets Simon had purchased the day before into her hand. He said something softly to her and she smiled gently and gave him a little curtsy. His smile was a gentle one. Standing, he turned and spotted Markus watching him. For a brief moment, he appeared sheepish, but the look faded quickly.

Simon crossed the room and passed Markus without a word, bright blue eyes glued to the floor as he exited his home and moved towards the carriage at a sedate pace. Markus followed but did not enter the carriage with him. Instead, Avery gestured for him to come to the back of the carriage and settle himself on a small step on the right of the carriage, meant for the footman to travel on. Avery occupied the other step on the left side of the carriage. They would be holding onto the back of the carriage until the driver reached their destination. 

As it turned out, the Warrens were Evangelical Anglicans. Their church was modest but beautiful, built of sturdy stone and fine wood and exquisite stain glass windows. Markus had found in his time that most denominations of the church were similar and as such, never particularly identified with any one form of worship. Markus did, of course, believe that there was a God and some solace to be found in Him. He had experienced both the Evangelical side of faith as well as the less popular Church of England, although he had heard many a dissatisfied grumble that the Church of England was gaining more and more traction. Carl, he knew, would be pleased by the news, if only a little. He had never been one for conformity. Of course, he wondered if Carl might begin to worship somewhere else, like a Methodist church, just to remain uniquely peculiar. He had a number of fans who expected a sort of non-conformist response. Of course, he doubted Carl would want to meet the standards of others simply to meet their expectations.

Inside the church, the Warrens walked down the centre of the pews finding a place to sit, all three clutching the bibles they had been given at the door securely between two hands. Markus slipped into the row behind them, seating himself behind Daniel who sat between his mother and brother. Lady Warren was already engaged in conversation with another woman, her dress equally as fine as hers and her smile just as forced. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she was taking the measure of Lady Warren, no doubt in the same way that Lady Warren was of her.

Daniel and Simon conversed with the woman’s husband politely, although it was clear that it was the ladies of the house that fostered their family relationship. Markus couldn’t help but notice that the men’s conversation was stilted and formal and the small talk didn’t extend much past the weekly news. When the topic of _ that sodomite _ cropped up, it was Daniel who was quick to steer the conversation elsewhere. Simon’s expression, which Markus realised had remained carefully neutral since he had entered the church, faltered slightly at the mention of the article, but he was quick to school his features once again into a mask of indifference. He didn’t miss the way Simon’s expression flashed with relief when the service began and the gentleman in front of them turned to face the Priest. 

The Warren’s watched and listened intently to him, all three. Markus was surprised to find that even Simon’s eyes did not wonder, but he supposed Simon had a great deal of practice enduring the services of the church he claimed to have so little faith in. Markus had never asked, but he had to wonder whether Simon was simply having a crisis of faith or was atheistic in his belief and scepticism of God. Markus wasn’t sure what he might do or say if Simon were a true non-believer, and as such the conversation in the park they had held the morning prior to this one felt weightier than it had at that moment. When challenging faith, Simon turned to philosophy, and while religion is often something that can be ruminated upon and philosophised about, it was usually in regards to His motives and intentions. He wondered if Simon’s critique had less to do with faith than Markus was comfortable with, of course, the comment hadn’t bothered Markus much in that moment regardless; so he had wonder how much Markus himself cared. 

When the congregation was called to stand on open their book of hymns, they obeyed. Markus was surprised to find that not only were the Warrens’ equally expressive, lending their voices to the song with confidence but that they were all quite good at carrying a tune. Lady Warren was a high alto next to her sons who had something of unique tenor tones. Their voices although similar complimented each other nicely. They sang with an easy familiarity as their shoulders brushed together. They shared a brief glance and smile. It appeared it was common practice than, for them to sing together. Markus could imagine them singing in a church choir, their shoulders brushing together to soothe nerves before a performance. The sight, to Markus, was a beautiful one. Daniel and Simon were beautiful in that moment, bathed in morning light seeping through coloured panes of glass. 

Markus’ voice carried a little more uncertainty, but it was not unpleasant to listen to, and while Markus’ gaze flickered to and from the words he sang, he thought for a moment that he saw Simon’s gaze flick away from him, and back to the book in his hands. All too soon, however, for Markus’ liking, the song was over, and Daniel and Simon returned to their seats and the sermon continued. Throughout the service, a few more songs were sung and Markus’ voice grew quieter, if only so that he might be able to better listen to the brothers. Simon looked for the first time, completely relaxed in his own skin, in the company of others. He’d been freer with his speech where Markus was concerned when they were alone, but even then Markus could see the walls that Simon surrounded himself with. Simon, for once, looked at peace beside his brother in a familiar place doing a familiar thing. It was also the most relaxed he had ever seen Daniel, who always seemed so tense and unapproachable. 

It was almost a shame when the service came to an end and the crowd began to filter out into the street. Before Simon and Daniel could make it out of the pew, Lady Warren held up her hands and said, “confession boys,” she ordered. “Now, all of us.” She turned to Markus then and tapped him on the shoulder with her bible and spoke pointedly. “Have the coachman bring the carriage around. Wait for us outside.”

Markus nodded and stepped towards the exit. Neither Daniel or Simon looked particularly gleeful at the prospect of confession and wondered if it was something they endured on a weekly basis. Markus could imagine Lady Warren forcing them into a confession booth every week.

Still, he did as he was bid and moved out into the street where he was quick to locate their carriage and convey Lady Warren’s orders. It was sometime later that the Warrens emerged from the church, there was likely to have been a small queue for the confessional booth and the priest’s precious time. Avery ushered them into the carriage and when he and Avery were perched on the back of the carriage, Avery signalled for the coachman to move, and they were once again returned home in peace. Of course, Markus took note of the familiar downcast look on Simon’s face and the return of Daniel’s upright posture and near perpetually narrowed eyes. Confessional had clearly gone very well indeed, Markus thought sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait on this one. I found myself suddenly hospitalised and THEN I had laptop trouble. In summary, I had a misbehaving organ, but I'm recovering just fine and my laptop is fixed.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it, do let me know what you thought. I love reading your comments!


	6. Sunday Confessional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday morning felt like a dream, but everyone has to wake up eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER homophobic chapter, again, I'm sorry, but the plot demands it.
> 
> I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I had very little time over the Christmas period I've found since my move, I still have quite a few things to do with my day. 
> 
> I actually struggled a lot with this chapter. Starting out was difficult, and evolving the story in a natural way was way more difficult than it usually is. I found I had a lot to say and no idea how to say it.
> 
> I really hope you guys enjoy it and I'm sorry for the long wait.

When they finally arrived home, each Warren went their own way - each to their own bedrooms, presumably to change into something more casual for the rest of the day. The mood once they entered the home felt lighter than usual, although Markus detected some tension. Attending church had served to heal whatever injury it was afflicting the family somewhat, although the scar still remained. Markus lingered in the foyer for a minute or so, exchanging a quick word with Avery before they too parted ways.

Markus himself also made his way back to his room, jogging at the stairs one at a time before turning into a familiar corridor and towards a now-familiar room. Markus had his hand on the doorknob when he heard a faint sound of discontent. He glanced down the corridor, puzzled. The door to Simon’s room, usually firmly shut, was ajar. Sunday, it seemed, was a day for firsts. First, it was seeing Simon so finely dressed, then it was seeing he and his brother so harmonious and contented and as Markus approached Simon’s door, he realised he might get a first glance into Simon’s most private sanctuary.

He hesitated only briefly before he raised a hand, knocking firmly on the door by the hinges, in a vain attempt to allow Simon his privacy, but accidentally pushed the door further open all the same. Simon stood by his window, beside a table with a decanter filled with amber liquid and a small crystalline glass filled shallowly with the same liquid. Simon ignored the glass in favour of his sleeve, where he struggled with his cufflink, one of which was already free, leaving the arm of the shirt loose and free. It was the most unkempt that Markus had ever seen him. And the most unguarded - until the moment Simon’s attention turned sharply towards the door. 

Simon blinked owlishly. “Markus,” he said upon taking a moment to register what it was he was looking at. “Is everything alright?” he asked.

Markus smiled a little sheepishly. “Yes,” he said. “I apologise for the interruption, but I heard...well,” his smile twitched, unable to keep the amusement from his face or his tone. “Sounds of struggle, apparently.” When Simon did not immediately respond, Markus edged forward a little and gestured toward Simon’s sleeve although he did not cross the threshold of the bedroom. “May I?”

In the bright morning light, it was hard to miss the faint reddening of Simon’s cheeks, although Markus thought better of teasing the man for it. “Well-” Simon started, haltingly. “Yes.”

Nodding, Markus stepped into the room, closing the door behind him as he went, affording Simon the privacy to which he was accustomed to when in his bedroom. The room itself was very fine with a wide set of windows facing the garden, as well-manicured as ever. Ruth was in the garden, arranging the furniture in the gazebo and fluffing a few cushions that were not ordinarily present.

“Mother likes us to take afternoon tea in the garden on Sundays,” Simon said as Markus approached having seen where his attention was directed. Simon offered his arm to Markus as he reached him, palm up and hand loosely fisted. 

Markus said nothing to that, attention fixed firmly on Simon’s hand, his fingers and the lines on his palm. Quite unconsciously, Markus reached for that hand, taking it in both of his own, his own fingers brushing against soft, pale skin. It was such a contrast to his own. Simon’s long, almost delicate fingers twitched at the contact and the loose fist tightened fractionally for a moment before Simon relaxed again. Simon’s hands were soft and uncalloused, as a gentleman’s hands should be - again in stark opposition to Markus’s own hands. It had been some time since Markus had engaged in any kind of hard labour, but he did not think he would ever quite escape the roughness of his own hands. “You’re...quite full of surprises,” Markus said almost conversationally, although his attention drifting reluctantly forward the stubborn cufflink.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“You can sing,” Markus observed. The hand in his twitched again but Simon did not pull away, nor did he speak. It was just as well. Markus was not entirely certain that he knew where he wanted to take the conversation, seeking perhaps only to fill a silence. Simon was too fond of silence. “Very well, I feel,” he told Simon as if it were more of a matter-of-fact than a compliment. 

When Simon did not break his silence, Markus moved to cup Simon’s wrist in one hand while the other moved to the cufflink. He had lingered long enough simply holding Simon’s hand that he thought it would soon become quite improper. The clasp on the cufflinks took some force to move, apparently too tightly fixed or potentially rusty with age. Sadly, Markus wasn’t an expert.

When Markus pulled the cufflink free of Simon’s sleeve, Simon pulled away abruptly, holding his fist close to his chest, sleeve loose and falling about his elbow. “Thank you,” He said before turning to pick up the glass he had left on the table beside him. 

Simon’s gaze was fixed on the window. Markus realised that Simon was avoiding looking at him, judging by the way his eyes darted down at Markus’ feet before returning to the window. “I’ll...leave you, then,” Markus said, feeling somehow bereft as he slowly lowered his hands to his side. Simon hummed softly in acknowledgement and Markus turned away. 

It was only when Markus made it to the door that he heard a faint cough and glanced over his shoulder to see that Simon had drained the whiskey in his glass. He said nothing though, stopping short when he heard Simon speak. “I think you have a very fine voice too,” he told Markus almost too softly to hear. “Very warm.”

Markus couldn’t help but smile a little, awkwardly, glancing over his shoulder at Simon, whose sights remained firmly fixed on the window. “Although, I can’t hold a tune quite so well as you,” he said, watching Simon place his glass down and reach for the decanter and pour himself another glass. “I believe my playing to be more agreeable.”

That caught Simon’s attention. Picking up his glass again, Simon turned to look at Markus. “Play?” He asked. “What instrument?”

“The piano,” he told Simon with a gentle, fond smile. “When I first-” he hesitated. “In my younger years, Carl arranged lessons four days a week when he discovered how I’d always wanted to play.”

For whatever reason, Simon laughed. 

“What?” Markus asked, a bemused smile on his face.

“Nothing,” Simon said, waving a hand dismissively. “Thank you again.”

Taking it for the dismissal it was, Markus inclined his head, the smile slipping from his features. He turned and left, making sure to shut the door behind him. As Markus made his way back toward his room, he brought his hands together, cupping one hand in another and running his thumb over his upturned palm. He couldn’t help but miss the weight and feel of that hand in his own. He wondered briefly if Simon knew just what he looked like. Even in the smallest of ways he was beautiful, like a pure and soft light in a dark room.

Markus hadn’t felt such an urge to sketch anything in a long time. He doodled from time to time, but nothing worth mentioning. 

He stopped only briefly in his room. He took off his coat and put his gloves and hat away before he left again and made his way downstairs. Before heading down to the servant’s quarters Markus made a quick stop in the parlour where he recalled he had left his sketchbook several days prior and then made his way to the kitchen. 

When he made his way into the kitchen, he spotted Alice sat at the kitchen table with a book open in front of her and a bag of sweets on the table beside it. He offered her a polite nod and smile and she waved shyly at him before they returned to their respective tasks. Moving into the servant’s quarters, it wasn’t long before Markus heard voices.

“And you’re sure these numbers are quite correct?” he heard, and Markus was quick to realise that the voice belonged to Daniel, similar to Simon’s but firmer and more authoritative. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, Markus turned to see Daniel in the head butler’s office with the man himself. Markus didn’t see much of Mr. Brinkley with the exception of mealtimes. He was thin, with almost white hair and ageing features. He wore a neatly pressed uniform that served to lend him an air of elegance. “I’m sure, Lord Daniel,” he said with a tight-lipped expression. “Market prices have gone up. It would perhaps serve the household to increase the kitchen’s budget.”

Daniel, who was leafing through the pages of Mr. Brinkley’s most precious ledger, did not see Markus as he watched the exchange. He saw Daniel frown, his face half-obscured simply from the angle at which he stood. Mr. Brinkley stood behind his desk, perhaps not daring to take a seat when one of his employers was present. Daniel was stood sideways on, focused. It was the first time he had witnessed Daniel at work. He often slipped out unnoticed, either too early or too quickly for Markus to take note of his morning routine. Simon’s routine was simple. Up for breakfast...then lounge. 

At least Simon took an artful approach to idleness. Markus could tell Simon was given little responsibility or had perhaps had it taken from him. If Simon was to be assigned a shadow, he could hardly have been considered trustworthy by his mother. Daniel, on the other hand, seemed very studious indeed. He was the man of the house, with his father dead and being the eldest child by _ minutes. _ Markus himself had some experience of going over the household accounts when Carl was unable or disinclined, in Leo’s stead. Accountancy then, must be at least one of Daniel’s talents. 

“I suppose if we must,” Daniel muttered, bringing a thumb to his lip, chewing thoughtfully on a fingernail. “It interferes with-”

Mr. Brinkley interrupted the thought with a gentle clearing of the throat, eyes flicking from Daniel’s eyes when he caught them to his hand and back again. He looked reproachful. Daniel, in turn, looked indignant, huffing as he lowered his hand and pointedly held the book firmly with both hands. “Now, there’s a habit I thought you’d grown out of...” Mr. Brinkley said admonishing, but fond. 

Daniel looked embarrassed, but he too seemed fond. “Yes well, old habits and all that...” he said, but closed the book again and placed it on the desk between them. “You’ll have your increased budget. We can discuss December another time, but for now, I suggest you take the rest of the day to yourself, Mr. Brinkley.”

“Thank you, sir,” Mr. Brinkley said with a nod. 

Behind him, Markus heard footsteps, turning to see Kara emerge from the stairway holding a tray upon which sat a tea set meant for two and a steaming pot of coffee. She offered him a smile and made to continue on her way, but stopped short realising that Daniel was exiting Mr. Brinkley’s office. 

“Oh Mrs. Williams,” Daniel said looking apologetic. “I apologise, our business was concluded sooner than I thought it would be,” he said looking at the tray in her hands. “You may as well take that into the garden with another teacup for Simon,” he told her gently. 

“Of course,” Mrs. Williams said with a gentle smile. 

Then, something in the corner of his eye caught Daniel’s attention. The vase of white mourning flowers sat proudly displaying the red rose in the middle like a picture frame. Daniel frowned. “To whom do these belong?” he asked, tone measured. 

Kara looked caught off-guard. “Oh well,” she said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “I know you weren’t fond of him, but- but we- the rest of the staff and myself decided to...remember-”

“Right,” Daniel said, unconvinced. “If you’re going to lie to me Mrs. Williams, at least make it convincing, otherwise you ought not to bother,” he told her firmly, lips pursed into a firm line. “Please be minded that the next time you do, it may have serious repercussions for you,” he warned.

Stock-still with shock, Kara could only nod as Daniel breezed past her, leaving behind a suffocating cloud of rage. Markus waited until Daniel was well out of earshot before he placed a gentle hand on Kara’s elbow, drawing her attention to him. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yes,” she said. “Yes,” she reaffirmed more confidently this time. She placed the tray down on a nearby table. “Mr. Brinkley, would you be so kind as to take this out to the garden? I really must-”

For his part, Mr. Brinkley looked mildly annoyed but was quick to wave her off, for whatever reason. “Yes, go quickly now.”

To his surprise, when Kara turned to leave, she grabbed Markus by the wrist and dragged him along behind her. He stumbled behind her for a few steps before he pulled himself free by did not stop following her. “Kara, what’s going on?”

“We should warn master Simon that Daniel knows about the flowers,” said told him, bunching her apron up in her hands anxiously. “I could have sworn...” she trailed off.

They were down the stairs and through the kitchen in record time. “Kara?” Markus asked.

“I’d arranged those flowers so carefully,” she finished, seeming to realise what she was doing to her uniform straightening out quickly even as she hurried. Markus felt a pit grow in his stomach and felt it grow deeper when he heard raised voices coming from the parlour. 

“What on God’s green earth do you think you’re doing, Simon?” they heard Daniel shout. The door to the parlour was partially open. Apparently, in his anger, Daniel had not cared or remembered to close the door. He and Kara stood off to the side sharing a worried glance as they listened, unable to interrupt. 

“I’m sorry?” Simon asked, incredulous as he sat with a book in his hands by the fireplace, dressed in more casual attire now. 

Daniel scowled. “Did you really think you could get away with purchasing flowers for that- _ that _-”

“Sodomite?” Simon supplied helpfully. “Filthy homosexual?” he continued, “Molly?”

Judging by his amiable tone and choice of words, it seemed obvious to Markus that Simon was baiting Daniel. This is what Simon looked like when he was angry. Kara looked as shocked as he felt.

“Don’t do that. Travis left months ago,” Daniel snapped, apparently wise to Simon’s tactics. What exactly it was that Simon was trying to achieve, he didn’t know, but whatever it was, Daniel avoided whatever rabbit hole Simon was trying to lead him down. “I thought by now your ridiculous infatuation would have passed.”

Simon frowned, closed his book and stood, tossing it onto sofa carelessly. “As I _ keep _ telling you,” Simon said with the tone of someone who had repeated something so often it hardly bared repeating again. “It wasn’t an infatuation - these feelings will not _ magically disappear. _The sooner you accept that-”

“Are you_ insane _?” Daniel interrupted sharply. Then, Daniel raised his hand, as if in surrender. “No, forgive me, I had better hope you are. Better an asylum than prison, dear brother.” Markus had never seen the inside of an asylum, but he had never heard wonderful things, despite boasting the best care for the...troubled. “Maybe if you’re lucky you might be confined elsewhere and placed in the care of our own physician.”

Simon let out the most bitter laugh he had ever heard. “Am I not trapped here already?”

“If you would just agree to marry as mother suggested-”

“No-”

Daniel was not to be interrupted. “Then you could work past your affliction-”

“Daniel-”

“It would do you well to have children-”

“_ Daniel, stop it, _ ” Simon shouted and Daniel faltered. Both he and Kara flinched, almost recoiling at the uncharacteristic loss of temper. “For God’s sake, it’s _not a choice I can make! _”

“Yes, it is,” Daniel said, frowning. He seemed less angry now, perhaps more out of astonishment than anything else. “Consider Miss Cartland,” Daniel implored. “She’s agreeable-”

“Absolutely not,” Simon snapped. “I’d sooner die than marry someone so akin to our mother.”

Daniel frowned. “Miss Cartland has the same colouring, yes, but...”

“Rosanna is a horrid bitch, Daniel,” Simon said, plainly. Daniel looked astounded, and beside him, Markus saw Kara raise a hand to her mouth in shock, scandalised. Despite the dire situation, Markus couldn’t help but want to laugh, although he did a masterful job of resisting the urge. He had never thought Simon capable of such language, especially in regards to a woman.

“Mother approves of her,” Daniel said firmly.

“I do not much care for her opinion these days, Daniel,” Simon said, placing a hand on his chest as if to try and force himself to calm down. “She’s cruel.”

“She’s trying to protect you,” Daniel said, lowering his voice as well, as he too began to calm down. “As am I.”

“Well then, you marry her,” Simon said, quiet and bitter. “Make mother happy.”

“Simon-”

“She _ forced me _ to read his obituary in the paper,” Simon said, his balled into fists at his side. “Over breakfast. You _ saw, _” Simon said defensively. “That’s why I got the flowers, Daniel.”

“I just don’t understand how you could care so much for a man who-”

“I _ loved _ him.”

It was like a viper striking out from tall grass the way Daniel moved, the back of his hand colliding with Simon’s cheek, sending him sprawling back, clutching at the arm of the sofa to keep his feet with the force of the blow. Kara stifled a cry of horror, taking several steps from the door. “_ I paid him off _,” Daniel said, eyes wide as he held his hands down at his side, apparently shocked he had just done what he did. “I gave him money and he left.”

Simon looked as if he had been doused with cold water, sat rigid where he was splayed across the sofa with a hand pressed to his cheek. The feeling that rose within Markus at the sight wasn’t quite anger. “W-what?” Simon asked so quietly Markus would hardly have known he’d spoken at all had he not seen his lips moving to form the words. 

“He didn’t love _ you _,” Daniel said, pale and panicking. “I am...sorry Simon, I hadn’t meant to say-”

Before he knew what else to do, Markus was moving. Wordlessly, he pushed open the parlour door and disregarded the way in which the siblings stared at him, stunned by his entry and the way he pulled Simon to his feet, and hold him securely at his side, hand on one arm whilst the other was wrapped loosely around Simon’s waist. “That’s more than enough of that,” Markus said, barely sparing Daniel a glance as he coaxed a dazed Simon out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts for the day:
> 
> A 'molly' was a slang term for men who identified as gay or bisexual in the Victorian era. It can also be used as a slur. Apparently it might be derived from the Latin 'mollis' meaning soft or effeminate. 
> 
> Also, if you were arrested for being a homosexual, there was a possibility you would get away with not being convicted if you/anyone else could prove you were in fact insane/not in your right mind when you were caught in/performing the act. You would then (if you could prove it) be committed to an asylum for the rest of your (probably very short from that point on) life, or be placed in the care of a private doctor.


	7. Paper Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Daniel's confession, Markus and Simon share something together that neither expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I listened to a shitload of sad piano music for this chapter, so if you want to go ahead and do that to yourselves too, go for it.

Markus escorted Simon upstairs swiftly, without sparing Kara a glance, his arm wrapped loosely around his waist all the while and his other hand on Simon’s arm, guiding him forward. He did not let go of Simon until it came time to sit him down, which he did, settling Simon down on an armchair placed in the corner of the room by the window. Simon remained silent, allowing himself to be maneuvred as Markus wished. He appeared lost in his own thoughts, his lips downturned and sorrow in his watery eyes. 

Now he was here, Markus was uncertain how to proceed. He had had his suspicions about the nature of the secrecy surrounding Simon, but he had never thought about what to do should they be true. He had never met someone like Simon before. He swallowed nervously, watching Simon stare at his hands, which rested lifelessly in his lap. He had never seen Simon look so lost before. He did not even take care to compose himself. Simon’s cheek was rising in colour, reddened with the impact of Daniel’s hand on his face.

Markus may not have understood how to approach the situation, but he did know that he did not appreciate the deflated and defeated expression on Simon’s face. So, he did the only thing he could do and knelt suddenly in front of Simon, a movement so swift Simon startled. Their eyes met when Markus looked up at him and they stared at one another, both unable to find words. Hesitantly, Markus reached forward, his fingers brushing Simon’s wrist, encircling it loosely - as if it were the most delicate china. “Simon...” Markus started, although he trailed off, quite unable to articulate his thoughts.

Simon’s smile was feeble. “What you must think of me...” he said so softly, there was no way his voice carried anywhere but between the two of them. He gently twisted his wrist out from under Markus’ touch, and Markus felt inexplicably spurned. 

“I don’t know what to think,” Markus admitted, just as quietly. “But-”

Simon took a deep breath, and Markus' words died in his throat. “Thank you,” he breathed out as if the only way he could form words was on the wind, his eyes fluttering closed. Tears finally fell, but just barely; a stream dripping into his lap, landing upon pale, motionless hands. “You may go now.”

The pair of them remained in tense silence for some time, neither moving to enforce the instruction or obey. Markus dared not touch Simon again, kneeling, one hand on his knee and the other now resting motionlessly on the arm of the chair upon which Simon was sat.

“I only want to make sure you are alright,” Markus said, after some time, unable to think of anything else to say and knowing that it would not be prudent to leave when Simon appeared so fragile.

Simon’s response was to laugh. It was a weak sound, and incredulous, his smile embittered. “I don’t wish to sound dramatic,” Simon began quietly. “But how could I be?” he asked, “I am a _ fool _.” He stated matter-of-factly, his voice wavering as he rose to his feet and began to skirt around Markus from where he knelt.

Markus matched the movement, shooting to his feet and grabbing for Simon’s upper arm before he could think to do otherwise, yanking Simon back against him. Simon was shocked to find himself with his arm and side flush against Markus’ chest with Markus staring intently at him. “It isn’t foolish to love,” Markus said with such conviction that he was faced with a moment of stunned silence before a strangled sob forced its way out of Simon’s throat.

Instinctively, Markus wrapped Simon in his arms, pulling him close. He could feel the tension in Simon’s posture, even now guarding himself against hurt even as he drowned in it. He felt Simon’s hands clutching at his waistcoat at his sides as if to resist the urge to return the gesture. It broke Markus’ heart to know that Simon did not have it in him to trust Markus and his intentions. That said, he was not exactly certain what his motivations were, save to soothe the distressed man folded in his arms as he shook, body wracked with grief. 

Wisely, Markus chose not to speak even as he felt his shoulder grow wet with Simon’s tears. He didn’t so much as move until he felt Simon’s breathing begin to slow once he was through with his tears. Simon pulled away abruptly and turned away from Markus, bringing his hand to his face to wipe the sorrow from his cheeks and hide his reddened complexion from Markus. “Forgive me,” Simon said softly as he walked over to a set of drawers beside his bed, paying no mind to Markus as he moved to follow, as if by instinct. “I hadn’t meant to lose my composure like that.”

Markus watched as Simon pulled open the top drawer, reaching inside to retrieve a handkerchief. Markus’ words failed him once more when he saw what lay beneath the innocuous fabric. “You have a gun,” Markus said, eyeing the weapon - a revolver with what looked to be a box of ammunition sitting beside it. The box appeared full - the gun perhaps unused in quite some time if at all. 

“What?” Simon asked, and then blinked down at the drawer. “Oh yes,” he said as if just registering its presence. “A pepper-box pistol. There are several hidden around the house,” he explained, sniffling little and bringing the handkerchief to his face and wiping at his nose delicately. “My father, bless his soul, insisted we keep some...in case the worst should happen.”

Markus thought it better not to ask what the worst might have constituted, watching as Simon’s gaze lingered on the open drawer, although it was hard to tell what he might have been focused on. Simon did not appear to see but was transfixed regardless. “Do you shoot…?” Markus blurted out, unable to help the rising panic he felt at the thought of what Simon might do with the weapon in a moment of weakness such as this.

Simon tilted his head toward Markus, as if drawn to the sound of his voice, but his attention remained fixed on the drawer for a moment longer. It was not until Simon met his gaze, eyes flicking to Markus’ own, that his words seemed to catch up with Simon. 

A look of comprehension crossed Simon’s face and he shook his head hastily. “No,” he said softly. “I despise the things...”

There was a brief moment of relief that Simon may perhaps forgo harming himself, which was swallowed by apprehension. A dislike of guns meant nothing in the face of grief. He swallowed. “Simon,” he began softly. The other man must have caught something in his tone and seen the pity in his eyes, because his posture tightened once more, his fist closing nervously around the handkerchief in his hand. “I...I won’t pretend to understand...you. This,” he said gesturing to the other man vaguely.

“And yet, you comfort me,” Simon said, taking half a step back as if to try and flee the conversation, but knowing he had nowhere to turn, run or hide.

“I can see that your feelings are real,” Markus said with more certainty than he felt. Simon seemed surprised at the declaration. It was more validation than he had received from his own brother. “I can also see that you are a good man,” he told him. Simon might have blushed but it was difficult to tell with his cheeks and eyes flushed red from weeping. “And silence me if you think me improper when I say that I feel I know you well enough to say that any woman, or...man,” he paused, as if uncertain. “Would be fortunate to have your love,” he finished, watching Simon inhale softly, his eyes welling with tears once more.

“Save when fortune itself comes knocking,” Simon choked out, his tears falling unbidden. He turned to the drawer once more, digging through it and retrieving a box of matches, placing them on the table before reaching for his table lamp. The oil lamp was fluted and elegantly curved, and he lifted the glass before he lit it with practised ease, but left the glass case to one side. “As I said, I am a fool,” Simon reiterated whilst he dug through the drawer once again, half-lifting the box of ammunition and slipping something out from underneath it.

“Love is not a crime,” Markus said, brows furrowed and posture straight. This, he truly believed. 

“Except when it is,” Simon said in resignation, wiping at his face with the handkerchief again. When he was finished with it, he lay it down and turned his attention to the paper in his hands, fussing with the folds. Of course, that was when Markus realised that it was more than folded paper - it was shaped. 

“Is that-”

“Origami,” Simon said, turning to Markus with a fond, but inexplicably sad smile on his face. Markus edged closer to inspect it - a fine little bird as it appeared, made with what looked like an old newspaper, which was by now a sad grey where the ink began to smudge and blur with age. “My Rupert claimed it was supposed to be a dove,” he told Markus, although he did not lift his gaze from the paper bird, prodding carefully at a slightly bent wing. “But decided it looked more like a pigeon...because all the ink made it look like their feathers.”

Markus heard the wavering in Simon’s voice as he spoke, and felt as if he were witnessing some private moment and a deep secret thing he had no right to be a part of. He knew if he were to speak, whatever spell they were under would break, and this moment would be lost. So, he remained, as ever, the silent spectator to this intimate display. 

How could a man make grief seem like such a beautiful thing?

Simon looked so far away, buried in his memories. Markus watched the love in Simon’s eyes, and the pain of sorrow and in the end, the heartbreak in the downturn of his lips and the fluttering of eyelids as he seemed to come back to himself. “Oh, my heart...” Simon whispered to no-one in particular, or perhaps someone quite specific indeed. He watched Simon’s shoulders rise and fall slowly as he took a steadying breath, taking the bird gently between his fingers, and lowering it to the open flame. 

The paper burned slowly at first, until Simon lifted it, tilting the paper so that the flame caught elsewhere. Markus could not ignore the tears streaming down Simon’s cheeks. Together they watched until Simon felt the tips of his fingers begin to burn and he was forced to place the paper down on the dish surrounding the base of the lamp, and let the paper burn itself into nothing but fine, delicate ash.

When Simon turned to Markus again, Markus stepped forward and was already reaching up, his hands thoughtlessly taking Simon’s face into their slightly roughened hold, thumbs delicately wiping away tears before Markus could stop himself.

They were inches apart. Markus regarded Simon with undisguised intensity, watching the emphatically splendid man before him, gentle and soft, intelligent and giving; a man who wore his sorrow like a shroud and his heart on his sleeve and wonder on his face. 

It wasn’t until he felt the gentle touch on the back of his hand that Markus came back to himself, pulling away swiftly and taking a step back. Simon seemed bereft of the touch immediately, his hand lingering for a moment by his face where he had tried to take Markus’ hand in his. He was quick, however, to school his expression into something that passed for respectable, and straightened out his waistcoat. 

The silence they had been so entranced by was suddenly stifling and Markus swallowed, nervously. “Do excuse me,” he said suddenly, with a tight bow. “There are matters to address elsewhere.”

His exit was swift as Simon nodded stiffly and waved Markus away with halting movements as if trying to recall how to perform the motion. “Of- of course,” Simon said, his voice thick with something Markus did not care to identify at that moment.

At the top of the grand staircase, Markus took a moment to himself, straightening out his own clothes as he took a few deep breaths. He descended the stairs slowly and turned in the direction of the parlour. Kara had disappeared, and Markus heard a distant commotion coming from the servant’s stairs. He might not have heard it but for the dead silence of the rest of the household. 

His mind, however, was focused for now, solely on Daniel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Thoughts?


	8. Small Mercies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus confronts Daniel and finds himself in a situation he should have expected and one he did could not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The saga continues. I really hope you enjoy.

The door was as Markus had left it - push wide open as he swept Simon from the room and to somewhere he might find peace. When Markus arrived, he paused in the threshold long enough to spot Daniel with his back to the room, bent over a writing desk in the corner of the room, the nib of his fountain pen dipped in ink and scribbling away. Markus spotted an abandoned glass of bourbon - half-consumed and forgotten on a table by the desk. Daniel seemed quite absorbed in his task.

“When I accepted this job,” Markus began, watching the lines of Daniel’s posture tense. It wasn’t like Simon who withdrew and twisted away from confrontation and stress but stood his ground regardless. Daniel was like a tightly wound spring or a coiled snake whose bite was sudden, venomous and baleful. Unlike Simon, Daniel’s temper burned hot where Simon’s ran cold. Provoking a reaction would be almost too easy, Markus realised. Of course, he already had the stick, he thought to himself. Markus may as well poke the bear. “I hadn’t expected to have to protect Simon from his own blood.”

Whatever response Markus thought he might receive, Markus had not been expecting Daniel to lower his pen and grip the edge of the writing desk as he bent his head down to gather his wits and school his emotions. Markus waited in silence but moved further into the room, his expression grim. The tension in the air was almost palpable. Then, at length, Daniel collected himself, straightened his posture and picked up his pen. He seemed to ignore Markus for a brief moment as he made the finishing touches on whatever letter it was that he had been writing. “You needn’t lecture me, Markus,” Daniel said at length. He sounded like a man struggling to collect himself. “I am well aware of the terms of your contract,” he finished, placing his fountain pen down and weighing the paper down with weights to keep it from moving whilst the ink dried. 

It was only when Daniel turned around that Markus fixed him with an unamused stare. Daniel did not seem much amused either. There was a strange silence that stretched between them, deafening them with unspoken words and more besides. There was a tension between them that felt like violence. They had the length of the room between them and neither moved, for fear that that precious tension would snap and the quiet would be displaced by the sheer intensity of their anger. 

Markus asked the only thing he could think of that would not incite violence. “Have you no shame?”

Daniel scowled, his usual thinly veiled hostility toward Markus exchanged for honest hatred. “Have you no sense?” Although he was not quite so adept at it as Simon, Daniel took a moment to gather his thoughts and did not speak foolishly. “You had no right to intrude and interfere in a private discussion,” he warned. “You forget your place.”

“My place is at Simon’s side,” Markus told Daniel, folding his hands behind his back as if it were a declaration that could not be countered or contradicted. Markus’ word was absolute.

Daniel raised a critical brow his chin tilting upwards as he regarded Markus. Too late Markus realised that he had said the wrong thing. Daniel half-turned, sweeping the paperweights on the desk aside before he took up the letter he had been writing. The artist in him couldn’t help but find the gesture beautiful in its fluidity. Markus also couldn’t help but notice the smallest of black ink stains on Daniel’s thumb and the inside of his index finger. Perhaps in his haste, he had been overly generous with the ink. The liquid smeared the edges of the page in his hand and marred his porcelain skin. “Infringe upon another family matter again and you shall find that your _ place _ is the inside of a workhouse.”

Markus tensed involuntarily with the threat and judging by the way Daniel’s eyes roved over him, it had not gone unnoticed. Of course, if Daniel did decide to terminate him, he knew Carl would allow him to return him, but there would be a cost. Whatever happened here had to be manoeuvred correctly or Markus ran the risk of damaging his current and future reputation. “How do you imagine Simon would feel about the termination of my contract?”

“_ You _ can be replaced. Simon’s opinion doesn’t matter,” Daniel said coldly. The impact of his words was lessened somewhat by the look in Daniel’s eyes. He was so utterly transparent, unlike his brother. He had thus far been earnest in his speech, but his eyes gave him away. Hesitance, guilt, and frustration. All of it laid bare like the words of an open book. “Not here,” he told Markus, who frowned. “In the meantime, however,” Daniel continued, approaching Markus with the letter in hand. The closer he came, Markus felt as if a chasm were opening between them. He felt sick with vertigo. He did not know how deep the chasm went. “You may take this to Mr. Brinkley.”

The sinking feeling in his gut roiled unpleasantly, and his confusion only added to it. Wordlessly, he took the letter. It was unfolded and unmarked. Daniel seemed to watch him expectantly, so he inspected the letter. The unrest he felt stilled but morphed into something worse. A pressure that swelled in his chest and a weight so heavy in his stomach that it felt as if it would drag him into the abyss at his feet. Suddenly, Markus had lost his footing. “Fifty pounds...”

“I trust the sum is agreeable,” Daniel said, with a furrowed brow and a suspicious gaze that Markus might have called curious. 

“Do you expect me to leave,” Markus asked, lips curling slowly in disgust. “Just like that, after what I have seen?”

Daniel shook his head. Were it not for the rigid way in which Daniel carried himself and the constant furrow of his brow, Markus might have thought how eerily similar he and Simon were when they chose to say nothing at all. Both men possessed an air of grace they shared with no other. Both carried a ferocity of a sort, Markus realised. Daniel was fiercely protective and Simon was fiercely loyal. Both men, he realised, felt deeply and keenly in all ways. Again, Markus was struck by the notion that these men were beautiful. “No,” Daniel said, his tone so far removed from that of Simon’s gentle hum that Markus was almost immediately pulled from his thoughts. “But you will take your leave. You are dismissed effective immediately,” Daniel informed Markus, who felt as if he had been struck with a cane. “You will remove yourself from this residence for the rest of the day and the entirety of Monday,” the terms were like a balm to what he thought was a complete dismissal. “You will return on Tuesday morning,” Daniel continued, and Markus nodded, lips pressing together uncertainly. “I’ll send a message Mister Manfred’s estate should we find your replacement during your…absence,” And there, came another blow from the cane.

Markus pressed his lips together, angry. He had a fury in his eyes that rivalled Daniel’s own. For all Markus disagreed with is methods, Markus would not pretend he did not understand Daniel’s intentions or motives. There was something so very affecting about Simon that it was hard to put into words, but at least Daniel could call it ‘love’. “And you think you can pay me off?” Markus challenged. “Like you did with Travis?” 

“Call it a discretionary fund to do with as you will,” Daniel supplied, barely maintaining his own calm in the face of Markus’ ire. “You have lasted significantly longer than the others already,” Daniel told Markus although he did not seem pleased by the idea. Perhaps, with the added context of Simon’s proclivities known to him now, it is easy to see why Daniel might be hostile toward Markus, or any other man his mother saw fit to lay at Simon’s feet. “Simon seems to tolerate you well enough,” Daniel observed, unimpressed. 

Markus suddenly recalled the trip to town during which he had spoken a great deal with Simon and remembered the warning that he had offered. A forewarning, perhaps, that such a situation as this might occur in which possessing Simon’s favour might result in _ both _of them losing something. He wondered now just what the others before him had been like, to have been dismissed before the week was out. “You’re not firing me?” Markus asked. The weight inside of him had been alleviated somewhat by his anger at being bought, but it suddenly felt as if it were back tenfold and the ground was giving away at his feet, faster than he could move because of it.

“Not yet,” Daniel said slowly, but Markus latched onto the words like a branch from a hanging tree, keeping him from falling into darkness. “But I only need one good reason, Markus.”

“Do you have one in mind?” Markus asked, and might have winced at the arrogance of his tone but for the fact, he was using it to hide something far worse. 

“Never touch him again,” Daniel warned, taking step toward Markus. Markus was several inches taller, and his frame wider - stronger, but Markus witnessed the cold ferocity in Daniel’s eyes and his voice and knew this was no idle threat. “Touch him and I kill you,” Daniel told him. It was a threat Markus took especially seriously, knowing now that there was any number of guns in any of the rooms. 

Bravely or perhaps foolishly, Markus stood firm, his expression severe, although not quite as lethal as Daniel’s own. He raised his hands in front of him, almost as if in surrender, the letter still clutched gently in one hand. “That was never my intention,” which was not a lie, but Markus already knew he had betrayed his own expectations. “But, I reserve the right to do so if Simon requires assistance.”

Daniel stepped back a little. The compromise, judging by his expression was unacceptable, but he seemed pacified for the time being. “And I suppose you thought your actions justified?”

“Yes,” Markus said bluntly, lowering his hands to his side. He was met with critical silence, and Markus allowed it. A moment’s peace in a volatile situation afforded him a chance to think. “I find such violence deplorable.”

Markus did not imagine the flash of guilt he saw flit over Daniel’s face before the expression hardened again. He was glad at least that Daniel at least felt remorse for his actions. 

“I have no need to justify myself to the likes of you,” Daniel said, stubbornly albeit guiltily. “But he needs to see sense.”

Markus was inclined to agree, although Simon suggested that what he was had not been his choice, and Markus was not sure if he understood what that meant. How dangerous and frustrating and damning a lack of choice in the matter might be. Even if Simon had no choice in his preferences, there was no reason he could not dismiss them. Markus dared to suppose he admired Simon for his determination in refusing to bow to the expectations of others if that is indeed what was happening. Such bravery was rare and worthy of reward. “He is wounded and heartsick enough,” Markus said plainly, his tone quiet, patient. 

“I hadn’t meant-” Daniel started, but cut himself short, still defensive, but no longer wrathful. “I removed an irritant when I exposed Travis’ greed,” he bit out, scowling. Markus’ understood then, what Daniel had done.

“You wanted to preserve Simon’s dignity,” Markus speculated aloud and Daniel looked off to the side as if doing such a thing was somehow the lesser course of action. “That’s why you chose not to tell him.”

Suddenly, Daniel’s violent outburst although unacceptable made sense to Markus now. “I have never had the...gift of patience as Simon does,” Daniel said simply. Daniel’s frustration at Simon’s lack of understanding had culminated into something that Daniel was less than proud of. Markus could see that in the way Daniel had grown quieter despite silently seething and saw it in the way that he refused to look at Markus. “You are dismissed,” Daniel said suddenly after a short lapse in conversation. “Take the money, never speak of what you have seen and heard here today and get out.”

Markus opened his mouth to reply but paused. He wanted to refuse the money but recalled Simon’s warning yet again. He knew then that to imply loyalty without incentive might be detrimental to his continued service in the household. Markus didn’t understand why, but he knew he did not want to leave. So he did the only thing he could do - he accepted. Silently, he folded the letter, the ink by now perfectly dry. “Very well,” he said, nodding politely as he turned, leaving Daniel to stew in his own turmoil. He made sure to close the door behind him. 

In the foyer, Markus made it to the decorative table in the middle of the room before he paused, careful of the flower arrangement there as he placed a hand on it, and leant against it heavily. The pit in his stomach and grown wider, although he had found his footing once again. He felt better at least knowing that he could return, but there was no escaping his punishment. The distant din of conversation still floated up from the servant’s staircase, but Markus made no move to join them and instead chose to take several minutes to himself. 

He looked at the letter in his hands. It detailed the value of Markus’ silence and the circumstances of his temporary departure. He supposed he had to pass the letter off to Mr. Brinkley regardless of whether he wanted to or not. So, taking a breath, Markus composed himself and made his way towards the kitchens. Once he arrived, he was met with a view of the entire household staff crowded around the dining table. Mr. Brinkley sat at the head of the table, and Kara sat on his right, and next to her a concerned and confused Alice sat in worried silence, a stuffed fox in her lap. She clutched at it tightly. 

Ruth and Avery stood side by side opposite her, both obviously worried. Avery had her hand in his and patted it gently as if to soothe her. Grace was stood close to the kitchen counter, her apron dusty with flower. She held a bowl to her hips and a whisk in her hand, absent-mindedly mixing what appeared to be cake batter. Markus might have been amused at the thought of her being a nervous baker if he had not been in such a dismal mood himself.

“I just can’t believe he had to find out this way,” Kara was saying to the rest of the group as he entered. “He was s-”

“You knew?” Markus blurted out, incredulous but somehow unsurprised. He recalled even as he asked the conversation he had had with Alice not so long ago. Kara and Mr. Brinkley were of one mind about Rupert Travis - it made sense now why they regarded him with such disdain. Then, Markus waved a hand, dismissively. “Forgive me,” he said. “Nevermind. I require a word with Mr. Brinkley if I may.”

Kara although surprised, looked guilty, as did the rest of the room. Another instance of the household’s collective and commendable desire to protect Simon. He could have smiled to see how profoundly their affection for Simon went that they would disregard his desirous nature for those of the same sex. Of course, a number of glances were exchanged between many of the staff. Kara and Ruth appeared particularly wary of his request.

Mr. Brinkley, however, appeared resigned, and stood slowly, straightening out his jacket. “Well,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

Wordlessly Markus followed Mr. Brinkley up the stairs in the servant’s quarters and into his office. He was a thin make with deeply lined features, although he was almost elegant in his almost indifferent expression. They did not speak until Mr. Brinkley stood behind his desk. The man never seemed to sit at it. Perhaps when busy or agitated, it would not do for the aged man to sit still. Seeing the paper in Markus’ hand, Mr. Brinkley held his hand out for it and Markus complied, passing him the letter without comment. 

Markus watched a number of expressions flit across Mr. Brinkley’s face. Disappointment, resignation, surprise and curiosity chief among them. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your...wages now?”

“No,” Markus said, too quickly, and Mr. Brinkley raised a brow. Of course, he felt no need to lie here. “I don’t need it,” he told him. “Keep it. I must, however, take my leave now.”

Mr. Brinkley frowned but merely put the letter away in one of the drawers in his desk. “I shall inform Lord Daniel that you have taken what was owed to you. Spend it wisely.”

Markus smiled a little, grateful at least that Mr. Brinkley would lie for him. Again, he bowed his head and turned, quick to take his leave.

“Wait,” Mr. Brinkley called after him, and Markus stalled, turning to face the other man. “I understand you have been waiting to speak with me,” he said.

Markus nodded. “It was about taking my time off,” he said, gesturing vaguely around him. “But I suppose that issue has taken care of itself for the time being.”

Mr. Brinkley nodded silently and waved a hand, shooing Markus, and smiled faintly again and made his way out down to the kitchen again. He stopped when he was met with the curious stares of the other servants. 

“Lord Daniel has insisted I take some time off,” he told the group, who appeared nervous at that. Kara seemed to be the only one who understood the severity of the punishment. Of course, judging by the looks he was getting, he could assume that Kara had already informed them of what had come to pass between himself and the two brothers. He did not, however, wait for a reply, and left the room with a nod. It was a relief to leave the stunned silence in the room behind him.

Too soon he found himself in his room, packing enough clothing for last a few days. The impact of his situation had finally, truly hit him as he folded a shirt and placed it carefully into his luggage, in a futile attempt not to crease the fabric. His hands were shaking now, and he felt, more than anything, helpless. He had done what was right and now he suffered the consequences for his actions. Some, fairly large part of him knew that it would, but it came as no less of a shock to his system. He might have wept if he didn’t know he would be returning in a few short days. A much smaller part of him wondered if this (thankfully temporary) leave was something of an act of mercy, coming from Daniel. Perhaps it was his silent thanks for his intervention. Of course, Markus could understand the need to dole out punishment. Markus had known he had overstepped the second he held Simon in his arms. 

Once packed, Markus closed his bag and left his room, holding his luggage in one hand at his side. He almost turned to leave when he paused and looked down the corridor where he knew Simon’s room to be. Against his better judgement, Markus turned and made his way down the corridor, stopping only when he reached Simon’s room. 

He knocked gently, and when he received no response after a long moment, he knocked again assuming that Simon had perhaps not heard. He would not put it past Simon to be lost in his own mind. “Simon,” he said at least, speaking through the door, placing a hand upon the wood and leaning close, listening for movement, or perhaps even a word or two. “I have to go...”

There was yet more silence that followed, and Markus frowned. A quiet dread grew within him and he decided then to forgo basic manners, and grabbed the handle, hastily and pushing the door open with one hand and took an instinctive step forward into the room.

He dropped his bag.

Simon’s room was vacant. 

“Oh, no...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was HAAARD. Daniel is HAAARD. Arguing is HAAARD. 
> 
> Why does anybody do it?


	9. Friends New and Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus chases down Simon and finds himself in a new part of the city and in company he would rather not keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your kind words and support. It means the world to me, honestly. 
> 
> A longer chapter than usual, but you guys deserve it. I also couldn't find a great place to stop with everything that was going on, so here you go!

Even as the cold feeling of dread gripped him, vice-like around his heart, Markus rushed forward, moving over to the dresser in which he had seen the pistol and yanked it open; the contents scrapping across the bottom of the drawer with the violence of the action. He was relieved to see that the gun lay untouched within, but it did nothing to ease his mind. He turned then, disregarding the drawer and his bag, practically leaping over it in his haste to leave the room. 

He lurched down the corridor and hurried to the stairs. He barely registered the familiar voices of Lady Warren and Daniel in the parlour as he slipped through the front door. He made no concerted effort to close it behind him, although he heard it swing shut with a note of finality that could have felt like banishment if he were of a mind to think on it. Alas, his mind was elsewhere as he made his way down to the gates and fumbled with the padlock - thankfully unlocked given the day and the way in which the household servants were to come and go throughout - and dropped it carelessly to the ground once it was free. He left the gate ajar as he stepped out onto the street and turned his head to the left and saw nothing, and then right. In the distance, he saw the steadily retreating figure of Simon (assuming it was not some other blonde gentleman) wearing a familiar coat and hat.

Simon was some distance away, and too far to simply catch and bring him home. He’d apparently had quite the headstart on Markus. He was only glad that the road was relatively straight and Markus had a clear line of sight, else he would have lost Simon before he had even begun to look. Markus only vaguely wondered if this is how Simon’s previous handlers had felt when the young lord disappeared. 

Markus did not hesitate to follow, albeit at a swift pace as opposed to an outright run. It took some time for Markus to realise he had left home without his hat but was more than thankful he had already been wearing his coat when he went to bid Simon farewell. He might truly have lost Simon if he had had to double back to make sure he could guard against the chill of winter. He trailed Simon for some time until they reached the main road, where traffic increased and so did the populace, couples, and families milling about this way and that for their Sunday afternoon activities and business. 

Markus sped up a little then, watching as Simon turned to the right and out of sight, obscured by a great brick wall that blocked him from view. Markus ignored the looks passing strangers gave him as he sped by, intent on keeping Simon in his sights. When he too, finally reached the main road, Markus turned to see Simon hailing a carriage, which pulled over to accommodate him. Markus watched as Simon reached into his coat pocket and within what Markus assumed was the required fee and passed it to the driver before he stepped into the carriage. 

Inwardly, Markus cursed and turned thankful to find another carriage pulling up to the curb on the opposite side of the street. Seeing his opportunity, Markus hurried into the road, and ran over to the carriage. “Excuse me!” he called, waving a hand in the air, halting the driver in his steps as he settled back into his seat, reins in hand. 

“Sir?!” the driver startled as Markus leapt up into the driver’s seat - thankfully wide enough for the two fo them “You can’t be-”

“I’ll pay you _ double _ if you follow that carriage _ right now _,” Markus said swiftly gesturing purposefully at the simply wooden carriage already pulling away from the curb ahead of them and interrupting the Driver’s inevitable tirade about settling into the carriage like every other passenger. “At a pace and with some distance, if you please, sir.”

“Uh,” the driver blinked. “Alrigh’,” he agreed dumbly as Markus took a seat beside him, eyes fixed on Simon’s carriage. The driver took the reins and tugged, setting the horses in motion. Once they were off, Markus dug around in his coat for his coin purse and handed the driver his promised fees. 

Now that he had a moment to think, Markus pondered the urgency with which he had followed Simon. He had been dismissed. Until Tuesday morning, Simon was no responsibility of his. Yet, here he sat beside a rotund public carriage driver, whose breath (and his) came in swathes of mist against the cold, following Simon to who knows where. Part of it he knew was simply a desire to know that Simon was safe, seeing as he had just received quite the emotional shock. Another part of him, a larger part than he might otherwise admit, was simply curious. Where could Simon, who was purportedly prone to taking unauthorised excursions into town, possibly go when he had no acquaintances to speak of, so far as Markus knew? 

Markus rode with the driver in companionable, if slightly tense (on Markus’ part) silence. He rubbed his hands together for warmth and then put them into his pockets, having forgotten his gloves in his hasty pursuit of Simon. They moved steadily away from the richer part of London until the streets seemed to close in and houses clustered closer and closer together, giving way to terraced houses and cramped shops. They had entered a poorer part of the city, and Markus couldn’t help but hope, for Simon’s sake, that he did not intend to stop any time soon.

Thankfully, they carried on through, Markus’ jaw tightening when Simon’s carriage would turn a corner and Markus would lose sight of it, or when they were forced to stop while another carriage passed them by so they did not collide with one another. It wasn’t as if Markus was unfamiliar with the poor, having had quite a history himself, but that was precisely why he was hesitant for Simon to find entertainment in the area. There were areas of the city in which wealth was sneered at and taken advantage of, give the chance. It presented the kind of danger Markus wanted neither Simon nor himself to face. 

Then, Markus saw the roads opening up and the houses not necessarily increasing in size and nowhere near as magnificent as the Warren homestead, by a homely sort of place where semi-detached homes lined the streets and elegant townhouses demonstrated a quiet sort of splendour. Soon enough Simon’s carriage came to a stop fairly close to the poorer area of the city, although a number of pleasant enough shops sprang up around the area they were currently in. A nearby pub, a grocer, apothecary and general store, Markus noted in passing. “Stop,” he said hurriedly, and the driver obeyed. He wanted to stay out of earshot of Simon and keep out of sight. 

He stepped down from the carriage and bid the driver farewell when he saw Simon emerge from the carriage and walk up to a nearby townhouse - small but charming with wide windows and two floors. He wandered closer, moving slowly towards the pub on the opposite side of the road to the house in question. He watched Simon knock on the door, and wait a few moments before the door swung open. Simon was greeted by a black man, taller and with skin darker than Markus’ own. He was neatly dressed and it was difficult to tell from a distance as to whether or not the man’s outfit was that of a butler or servant’s uniform. The man did, however, smile fondly at Simon.

The man had not said two words to Simon before another person came to the door - a woman this time, her hair pinned up to allow strawberry blond locks to cascade over one shoulder. She wore a fine silk gown, cream in colour with laced sleeves and hem. She took Simon’s hands in her own immediately and smiled at him. But, her smile and that of the other gentleman’s was wiped off their faces shortly after and the lady’s hand went to rest on Simon’s cheek for a moment as if to soothe him. The gentleman gestured into the home and Simon nodded, following them inside. 

* * *

Markus had lost track of time between Simon’s confrontation with Daniel and his arrival at the townhouse. By the time all was said and done, Markus realised that it was mid-afternoon and the sun was already beginning to set and the winter chasing away the last of the warmth. Houses and shop fronts were beginning to light up their homes and settle by warm fireplaces for the evening. The townhouse Simon was in was no exception. Occasionally, he would see one of the three of them cross a room through sheer curtains and wide windows. 

When the chill became too much, Markus moved to sit in the nearby pub, making sure to order a pint of lager before taking a seat by the window, gaze lingering on the house. He wasn’t sure how long he spent in the pub, but he remained silent and pensive. Markus tried not to feel as if he were invading Simon’s privacy and intruding upon what might have been a place of relaxation for him. It was all he could do not to disrupt Simon’s peace. He did not know when or if Simon would emerge that night, but he wanted to be there for the blond when he did. 

He was however brought out of his reverie abruptly when a hand came down on his shoulder roughly, shaking him slightly. “Well, Ralph is surprised to see you here!” a voice declared behind him.

Markus stiffened immediately, barely managing to turn to face Ralph as he rounded the table and came to sit in front of Markus, his smile wide and grotesque. Ralph’s scarring had not improved much over the years, running over the left side of his face temple and eye, some of the scars even pulling at the corner of his lips a little. Markus tried not to think about the way the scarring had made his stomach roil when they were children together, particularly when they discovered Ralph had been blinded in one eye. “Ralph…” was all he could seem to manage in his shock.

“It’s been years,” Ralph said. “Couldn’t pass up the chance to say hello, no. Ralph couldn’t do that.”

“I see you...recovered nicely,” Markus said. He hadn’t seen the man since they were youths together...since he watched Ralph thrown into the back of a police wagon. He tried not to think about what came after that. 

There was a brief, somehow uncomfortable silence as Ralph simply watched him, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Good behaviour...” he offered shakily, the smile slipping slightly from his face. His expression was more a grimace now, the way his teeth clenched together at the thought they must both be sharing.

They spend a long moment in tense silence - that is until another figure approached the table, two pints in large, hammy hands, lacing one down in front of Ralph and taking a seat on the last available chair between Markus and Ralph on the small circular table. Markus turned and opened his mouth to speak almost in protest, but the man seemed to know Ralph, and he was more than double Markus’ size. He had ale green eyes and a closely shaved head, pale and muscular. “Who is this, Friend?” he said, his voice a direct contradiction to his menacing appearance. It was kind, light and dare he say, amicable. 

“Markus is an old friend to Ralph,” the blond said kindly, holing out a hand to the newcomer as he passed an apple to Ralph that looked almost comically small in his large hands. “And this is a much newer friend - Tucker.”

“American?” Markus asked, detecting a clear accent. The giant smiled pleasantly. 

“Yes indeed, friend,” he confirmed, taking a swig of his lager. 

“So,” Markus started quickly, not wishing for the return of the awkward silence that had come before. “What brings you to the area…?” Markus’ friends, for lack of a better word, did not strictly belong in an area of the city for those whose circumstances were more favourable financially.

“Work,” Ralph said, his smile returning to his face, “always work. Like you,” he laughed.

That gave Markus pause. “Excuse me?”

Beside him, Tucker gestured helpfully toward the townhouse that Markus had been minding for the past several hours. Markus felt something in him grow cold. “We’re watching too,” Tucker said, his smile amiable as ever. “So Ralph thought: why not watch together!”

Markus was somehow indignant and horrified and sceptical. “Lady Warren hired you?” Ralph did not miss the incredulity in Markus’ voice, for he scowled. 

“Why can’t we?!” He said, his free hand balling into a fist - slamming it down violently on the table. Tucker was quick to place a large hand over Ralph and look around the room and offering the bartender a sheepish, apologetic smile. “You think Ralph can’t work just because you do?!” Ralph continued, yanking his hand out from beneath Tucker’s own. Markus winced at the tone - whiny, bratty and childish. It was a tone that got Ralph a lot of things he wanted when he was a boy. He used his scars to his advantage when he could. Of course, it seemed now Ralph had traded pity for intimidation.

“I hadn’t meant to imply anything,” Markus said quickly, raising a hand apologetically. “Forgive me.”

“That’s okay,” Ralph said, quickly. Markus never found Ralph’s rapidly changing moods easy to deal with. He had never been able to handle the way they seemed to change on the flip of a coin. “Ralph knows old friends forgive each other everything,” he said. “Yes, they do. Ralph isn’t even mad that you left us anymore,” he added cheerily. 

Markus chose not to comment on that statement, deciding to focus on the matter at hand. “Lady Warren hired you to watch Si- Lord Warren, too?”

“No,” Ralph said with a shake of his head, reaching into his coat pocket and withdrawing a knife. Markus tried not to visibly tense at the sight of it. “We’re watching you,” he said casually, bringing the blade of his knife to the skin on the apple in his hand cutting a slice off, cleanly. Ralph seemed to take pleasure in the flash of fear that passed over Markus’ face. “We would have said hello in the park, but we never got the chance,” He added, eyes roaming over Markus’ form, watching the other man squirm. 

And squirm Markus did. He felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. Lady Warren had been having him followed since the park? Perhaps longer than that?

“Don’t take it personally, friend,” Tucker piped up, clapping a hand over Markus’ shoulder as if to reassure him. Markus pulled away from the touch, frowning uncomfortably. Tucker didn’t seem offended overmuch by the gesture, simply smiling pleasantly and wrapping his hand around his pint. “Lady Warren is a cautious woman.”

The pub felt too warm, too small. Claustrophobic. “Yes,” Markus agreed. “She is,” Markus recalled the way he had taken Simon in his arms, his face in his hands and wiped Simon’s tears with a thumb. Some irrational part of him couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if they had touched like that outside - in that park, on that day. He watched Ralph take another slice of his apple into his mouth, with an ugly smile on his face. “But, how did you come to...”

Tucker laughed. “Shortly after you were hired, Lady Warren put out for word of you,” he told Markus plainly. While he did not appreciate the company of these men, he was at least grateful for their transparency. “When Ralph heard, he thought...what could be the harm?”

Markus’ eyes narrowed, and his lips pursed. “You could have put my job in jeopardy,” he said, irritated. “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing much,” Ralph said. “She knows we were in the workhouse together,” Ralph said with a smile.

Markus felt too warm, too sick. “Nothing else, surely?” he said, one hand clenching into a fist where it rested in his lap, the other gripping the handle of his pint glass tightly. 

“No,” Ralph said, slicing through his apple again. “Ralph knows you’re trying hard to be good.”

Markus stood abruptly, swallowing his nerves. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, picking up his pint and taking several large gulps before he made his way to the exit, wiping his hand on the back of his sleeve. 

“Goodbye, friend,” he heard Tucker call and caught Ralph waving at him, knife in hand, from the corner of his eye, the handle gripped between two fingers like some sick extension of his hand.

Thoroughly unsettled, Markus tried to pull his coat tighter around himself, walking a little further down the street. It was some time before a carriage came by that he could hail to a stop. He instructed the driver to pull up outside the townhouse he knew Simon occupied and hurried to the door himself.

Clearing his throat, Markus hesitated before knocking firmly on the door, glancing behind him down the street at the pub. He could just about see Ralph and Tucker through the window at which they had been sat, watching them watch him. He almost jumped out of his skin when the latch on the door thumped loudly against the door before it was pushed open. It was the mysterious gentleman who opened the door, looking clearly puzzled and cautious. 

Of course, he was right to be. It was late into the evening - almost midnight now - and a stranger had come to knock on the door of his home. “I’m here for Lord Simon,” he said by way of explanation. 

The man hesitated, frowning. “There’s no-one like that here,” he said, already beginning to shut the door in his face. 

Markus reached out, holding the door in place. “Your efforts are commendable, but you needn’t lie to me,” Markus said, watching the gentleman’s face morph from shock to something a little more defensive. “I know Simon is here.”

“Josh, what is going on?” he heard a female voice call from further within. Josh did not, however, get a chance to answer before the woman he had seen before came to the door herself, a frown clear on her painted lips. “Who are you?” she asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously, her tone sharp. 

“My name is Markus,” he said evenly, forcing his tone to be pleasant enough as to not be immediately dismissed once more. “I have come to take Simon home. Now, if you would be so kind.”

“Well,” the lady at the door began briskly, “my name is North and _ you _ can fuck off.”

For a moment, Markus was floored by her boorish language, but couldn’t help but crack a smile at the faint grimace on her companion’s face. Apparently, this was not a woman to hold her tongue even in polite company. At least she could be forthright with a stranger. 

North did not seem amused. “What are you laughing at, sir?”

“Forgive me,” Markus said, his smile broadening a little, beside her, Josh raised a brow and regarded Markus curiously. “I was just admiring your honesty.”

It was North’s turn to eye Markus with a critical eye, shifting from one foot to another, her hand coming to rest on her hip as she assessed him. Her lip quirked into a little smirk that Markus might call smug. “Flattery will get you everywhere,” she said. “Except the inside of this house.”

“Not flattery,” Markus insisted. “Truth.”

There was a brief pause in which she and Josh shared a look with one another, and North let out a bark of laughter. “He wasn’t exaggerating!” she crowed in amusement. Josh’s own laughter was more subdued but no less amused. “Oh, very well,” North sighed as she calmed down, gesturing for Markus to enter as she turned to go back into the house. “Come in.”

Markus nodded thanks as Josh stepped aside to let him in, closing the door behind them as Markus followed North into the main parlour. North was already sitting in an armchair by a fireplace. Markus lingered by the doorway even as Josh stepped into the room and took his own chair, picking up a book that had been placed in the cushioned seat where it had been left. Both had glasses of red wine of small tables at their side, and Markus couldn’t help but notice an abandoned embroidery hoop on the table beside North’s glass. The fabric was stretched evenly across the hoop, but if he were being critical, North was obviously not skilled at the pass-time. Her work was shoddy and uneven and the cloth was pulled awkwardly from too-tight stitches. A single needle punctuated the fabric, where it rested, safe and sound. 

“Where is Simon?” Markus asked, softly. 

“Upstairs,” Josh answered. “I’m afraid he’s indisposed.”

Markus frowned. “What do you mean?”

North smiled, gesturing to another empty armchair, beside which Markus saw a half-full decanter of what he assumed was whiskey and an empty glass beside it. “Our Simon has had a very trying day,” she offered as if that explained things. Of course, Markus inferred enough. 

“Right,” Markus said. “Excuse me,” he said, offering North and Josh a polite nod as he turned. 

“Upstairs and to the left,” Josh supplied helpfully. “I do advice against waking him, though,” he warned, watching Markus’ retreating back.

Markus didn’t take much time to examine the home, although it was neatly kept and the furniture was relatively modern in design. The wallpaper, in particular, was quite stylish, he noted as he found the door he was looking floor and knocked. Markus received no answer. He knocked again and frowned. “Simon,” he called before he sighed and opened the door - he did not bother to be quiet. 

The room was dark, lit by a dim oil lamp. Simon lay on his side, facing the door, eyes closed and his breathing even. A blanket had been thrown over him as no-one had made the effort to pull back the sheets and settle Simon properly.

As was the case with most things involving Simon, Markus did not know what to do.

He stepped further into the room and approached the bed quietly and knelt in front of it, eyes drawn to Simon’s face. He could smell the whiskey on Simon’s breath and Markus frowned faintly. It wasn’t as if he had never seen Simon drink before, but it was another matter entirely see him reduced to such a vulnerable state. His pale skin seemed to glow with warmth in the dim light of the room, the flame steadily burning. The shadows on his emphasised the curve of Simon’s cheekbones, the dip in the corner of his lips and the gentle slope of his neck, which disappeared beneath his shirt. Simon looked tired, even as he slept. Markus knew without the light Simon would be wan with grief. Markus could not ignore the traces of tear tracks he saw lining Simon’s features, which seemed almost to reflect the light. A beautiful creature, magnificent in his sorrow. Markus felt cruel for wanting to capture it all on a canvas. 

Thoughtlessly, Markus reached out, only stopping when the tips of his fingers brushed a warm skin, and stopped himself. He swallowed. It felt wrong to watch him like this, to touch him even more so. Markus had fear in his heart, and not simply from the knowledge that he did not have the trust of his employer. He did not have the trust of his charge. Simon kept his distance, or tried to, did not trust him to keep his confidence. He ran from Markus the first chance got, to come to this home and seek oblivion with people he had never mentioned. There were many things Simon did not trust him with - least of all the truth about who he was.

So instead, Markus moved his hand and placed it on Simon’s shoulder, shaking the man gently and coaxing him into wakefulness. 

Markus took a moment to watch Simon as he woke - steely blue, and shockingly bright and almost celestial in quality - Simon’s eyes fluttered open sightless and unfocused. It wasn’t until Simon saw him that the pure vulnerability in his expression seemed to fade, and in its place was a great, cold wall. 

“What are you doing here?” Simon asked, voice weak with fatigue. It took him a moment to place the look Simon was giving him, foreign as it was. 

It was hurt. Hurt and hostility. 

“I have come to take you home,” Markus said, his own voice catching in his throat. “A carriage is waiting...”

Why would Simon look at him so?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed this chapter! I enjoyed writing it, although to me it felt rushed in place but in my defence, I got REALLY excited about FINALLY introducing Ralph and Tucker. 
> 
> Ralph will always be my good sweet boy, no matter what it looks like on paper...


	10. Once Commanded...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of something...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter took a long while. I hope you enjoy it!

The silence that followed was deafening. Between them, the lamplight illuminated their faces. Neither was smiling. Neither was happy. Markus’ hand lingered near Simon’s shoulder but did not touch him, forearm resting lightly against the edge of the mattress. Simon lay with his head in his pillow. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. The whiskey was strong on his breath and his exhaustion seemed to weigh Simon down. Simon did not need Markus’ pity, so Markus tried not to give it to him. 

As he suspected, Markus had intruded on Simon’s privacy, and he wondered just how many of his guardians had done so. Had they dared? Did they wait outside for Simon to emerge in the dead of night? Leave him to his peace? Did they care what he did behind closed doors? Lady Christina had warned him when he had applied for the job that there were people in the world who would harm Simon, and initially, Markus struggled to think why.

Knowing now what he knew of Simon, it wasn’t hard to imagine. The law itself would be after Simon if they knew. Strangers would condemn him. Markus had known others like Simon to be attacked in the street, pulled into alleyways and left to lick their own wounds. The law would not help them. Going to the police meant reporting an incident which would likely get they themselves arrested. Men like Simon, perhaps even some women, were very much alone in the world. 

Markus had to wonder if the people downstairs knew of Simon’s predilections, or if they knew to protect him. That, Markus knew, was what he wanted to do. Perhaps Simon did not trust him, but Markus knew Simon. Withdrawn and quiet, but honest - even beautiful. He was a good Christian, even if the bible said otherwise. Simon obeyed the law, save for those that he claimed to have no control over. 

He had to wonder if Simon was right - else passion would be a superfluous thing, indulged in only by those with the leisure and privilege to do so. How arbitrary affection would become, to choose whom one loved without fanfare, courtship or love. What a creature Simon was, to so brazenly, and so wholly and so bravely fall into the arms of another man; when if love, so like fire, could be controlled, that he might turn around and decide one day to marry that Miss Cartland Daniel had mentioned and Simon purported to despise. 

Beside him, Simon stirred, slow to rise up on his elbows. He was in no way eager to move, and the wince he failed to mask told Markus two things: one, he was only beginning to sober up, and two, Simon felt defensive enough to at last try and conceal his emotions. The way Simon wobbled a little and fell back against the bed when his elbow slipped and aimed and lamented at the sight of the ceiling told Markus one more thing: Simon was still very, very drunk.

“Are you...going to be ill?” Markus asked softly, once more attracting Simon’s gaze. 

Simon’s eyes were narrowed lazily, yet venomously at him, and he huffed and tried again. When Markus moved to assist, he swatted at Markus’ hands and squirmed away from his touch. “Don’t touch me,” he grumbled as he slipped from the bed, leaning heavily on the bedside table to keep his feet as he found his balance. His balance, predictably, was precarious at best and Simon stumbled forward the bedroom door, resolutely ignoring Markus who followed behind him. Although Simon rejected his help, Markus trailed closely behind Simon, moving closer when Simon made his way to the stairs. He walked with one hand against the wall, using it to keep from falling, Markus assumed. 

Sensibly, Simon used both hands when it came to clutching the bannister on the staircase and took each step carefully, yet Markus’ hands hovered about Simon’s waist ready to catch him should he stumble. 

Thankfully, Simon made it to the bottom of the stairs carefully and his companions, North and Josh meandered into the modest foyer. Without a word, Simon stumbled over to them and Josh took Simon into his arms and they embraced. It was brief, but Markus saw the fondness and the sympathy grace his features like a passing shadow. “It was good to say you,” Josh mumbled into Simon ear, who nodded in silent agreement.

When they parted, North stepped forward and took Simon’s face into her hands. Her smile was gentle, and given what he had seen so far of her crass attitude, Markus imagined that such an expression was reserved for Simon and Simon alone. “Come again soon,” he told him. “We can entertain ourselves just fine without you, but we do miss you.”

Simon let out an amused chuckle and nodded slightly, reaching up and placing on of his hands over hers where it rested against his cheek. “I promise,” he said softly. His words were sincere, albeit slurred. “I miss you, too.”

Miss North let out a satisfied hum at that and slowly released Simon’s face. “Be careful how you go, Simon,” she told him, seriously, her brows furrowed. Markus might have thought her scolding judging by her posture - the hand on her hip and the stern expression on her face had Markus not just witnessed her bestow her affection upon Simon beforehand. “Just remember what I said.”

There was a moment of hesitation before Simon nodded and finally pulled away from North. Josh clapped Simon on the shoulder once more, before he walked Simon to the door, Markus following just a little behind.

Simon walked with the posture of a refined man but swayed like a sailor without sea legs. Putting one foot in front of the other seemed to occupy most of Simon’s attention. Markus was so focused on watching Simon as he attempted to descend the front steps that he couldn’t help startle at the hand on his arm. A large, warm hand grasped his forearm gently, but firmly, and Markus turned to see Josh standing beside him, watching him critically. “Do not wound him any more than you already have,” Josh said firmly, lips pursed in displeasure. “You would do better to leave him be the next time he comes here.”

The spark of confusion that flickered in Markus’ mind lit a fire in his heart, and he frowned, eyes narrowed. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he snapped, yanking his arm free and turning just in time to see Simon stumble. It was instinct the way Markus moved, striking like a bird of prey, capturing Simon in his arms, which, judging, by the way, Simon pushed away from him once he was righted again, one might have thought talons. 

The fire within Markus did not abate and only worsened as Markus steered Simon toward the carriage he had employed to carry the pair of them home. Although Simon did not verbally refuse his help, he squirmed from Markus’ touch and leaned away from him when he got too close. Simon had not so much as looked at him since leaving the bedroom. Even when Markus called for the carriage to leave once both he and Simon were safely deposited within, Simon did not look at him, gaze directed outward through the window on the opposite side of the carriage, watching the passing scenery.

Markus watched the window as well, lips thinning as he witnessed Ralph and his companion Tucker standing outside the pub. Ralph’s eyes followed the carriage, while Tucker was walking to someone who stood in the doorway of the pub. A woman he did not, or even care to know. Once passed, Markus reached for the curtains and pulled them closed, and watched Simon turn to look at him through the dim light peeking through the curtains - the source of which emanated from a small oil lamp that the driver kept at the front of the carriage outside.

“Will you not speak to me?” Markus asked after a long pause in which Simon said nothing. When the silence continued, Markus spoke again. “Simon, ple-”

“Lord Warren,” Simon said, quietly. He watched Markus with a faint frown, and he spoke with discontent on his face and tone as belligerent as they day they met, standing in the rain beneath an umbrella. “My name is Lord Warren,” he said, words still slurred a little with drink. “You shall address me as such...”

Markus sat forward in his seat, his indignation at Simon’s somehow combative silence was nothing compared to his disbelief of Simon’s flagrant animosity. “I don’t understand,” Markus said, not so much confused as he was mystified by Simon’s sudden dislike of him. “Mere hours ago, we-”

“You overstep, _ sir _ ,” Simon told him firmly, trying to sit further upright in his chair. He had leant further and further to one side, shoulder resting against the side of the carriage in his drunkenness. “You are no better than the rest of them,” Simon said. He wondered if the wateriness of Simon’s eyes were a trick of the light, and the shaking of his voice but wishful thinking, for something other than this cold hatred to be directed at him. “So you _ will _ be silent, _ duplicitous swine _.”

Markus was left reeling at the insult as if he had been punched in the gut, and then, of course, something occurred to him - the reason for the anger. To have left the home in the manner that he did, Simon would have had to sneak past the parlour to reach the front door, where he must have heard some part of Markus’ exchange with Daniel. Markus found himself left the horrifying notion that Simon had heard something about the money which had exchanged hands. He felt the return of the cavernous pit in his stomach.

Markus threw himself forward, kneeling on the floor between them. Simon was so startled by the movement that his legs parted to make way for Markus thoughtlessly, who placed his hands on the seats either side of Simon, looking up at him from his lower angle. “Simon, let me explain-”

“No,” Simon said sharply, his voice wavering, very much conscious of their closeness even in his inebriated state. “You promised me once that I need only say the word and you will be silenced forever...”

The chasm between them grew wider, and Markus nodded slowly once, eye never once leaving Simons own. They stared at one another. The air between them was tense, and to Markus’ own mind at least, uncertain. “I did...”

“Then...I command it,” Simon said so softly he could hardly be heard over the sound of hooves on the cobblestone streets outside the carriage, and Markus wondered if his expression was as hurt as Simon sounded. 

There was a pause so long that Simon was forced to look away, and Markus felt as if he were struggling to breathe, fighting the lump in his throat. His shoulders were stiff and his posture was rigid, even as he swayed with the movement of the carriage. After some time, he simply nodded dumbly, and then there was nothing between them but silence; suffocating and cruel. Markus was loath to pull himself away from Simon, but he did. He settled back into his seat, reaching for one curtain as Simon reached for the other, and pulled them back. Markus was grateful for the distraction the view offered.

* * *

When the pair arrived back at the manor, Simon threw open the door to his carriage and stumbled out, although he made his way up the driveway of his home at a more sedate, reluctant pace. After giving the driver further instructions to wait for him, Markus followed suit, lingering behind and giving Simon the space he needed. Simon was in no state to listen to him, and Markus was in no mood to further distress the other man, regardless of his own feelings of the subject.

When Markus reached the doorway behind Simon - who had left it open - he was met with the sight of Daniel, hurrying across the room and pulling Simon into his arms, a look of obvious relief on his face. Simon allowed the embrace passively, even going as far as to wrap his arms around Daniel’s waist as his brother cradled Simon’s head in the crook of his shoulder. Lady Warren stood by the decorative table in the middle of the foyer appearing stoic, although he did not miss the way her shoulders relaxed at the sight of her son. Kara stood with Markus’ bag at her feet and his hat in her hands, although her demure posture did little to mask her anxiety.

“Simon,” Daniel breathed. “I am so sorry...”

Simon sighed deeply and pulled away, a hand on Daniel’s chest to force him to keep his distance as Simon pulled away. “Enough,” he said quietly. “I am for bed...”

It was with that that Simon kept moving onward. He did not spare either Markus or Lady Warren with a glance and ignored Daniel’s faint noise of protest. The anger had seeped out of Daniel in the time Markus and Simon had been gone, and it seemed to Markus that the guilt now outweighed whatever feelings Daniel had buried deep within.

In the wake of Simon’s departure, the room remained silent until they could no longer see him, and it was only then that Lady Warren spoke. “You have done well to locate my son,” she told him. “Most of Simon’s other handlers have failed to do so,” she commented, her stoicism unshakable. “Where did you find him?”

Markus hesitated and frowned, walking over to Kara, taking his hat from her hands and putting it on before picked up his luggage. “A pub,” Markus said vaguely, turning and leaving the house as quickly as he could, even amid Lady Warren’s protests for him to remain. As far as Markus was concerned, a half-truth was better than saying nothing at all. There was, at least, a pub involved that night. 

He did not look back at the manor until he was already being driven away by the carriage and back home, toward Carl and some semblance of normalcy if not sanity. He doubted he would find that with Carl, as eccentric as the old man was. 

He looked ahead of him then, thoughts turning to the driver. He couldn’t help the incredulous huff of laughter that left him. What a hefty bill he would have to pay at journey’s end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been caught up in a project of mine that I'm not going to talk about, but am really excited for. So, if things slow down for a while, don't worry. Believe me when I say that this feeds that and that feeds this!


	11. Twice Shy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it's not easy to keep a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this sure is a thing. I'm excited. Are you excited? I'm excited.

When Markus finally arrived home in the early hours of the morning, he paid the driver and bade him farewell. He couldn’t help but notice how pleased the driver seemed to be with what he was owed. Given the unsociable hour, he insisted Markus pay him more, and Markus was too tired to disagree. So, sans any funds to call his own, he stepped up the footpath to his home and dug around in his coat pocket, retrieving the key that Carl had given him the day he’d left, should he ever wish to return home. It brought a fond but exhausted smile to Markus’ face as unlocked the door and let himself. 

Stepping out of the cold and into the warmth of a familiar home felt like Markus was shedding a second skin. He felt raw and abused, albeit not physically, and it felt good to be able to leave his qualms at the door. Carl’s health required his home to be adequately heated at every hour of the night, and for that Markus was grateful, even if a significant sum of money was paid to the local woodcutters to do so. Carl preferred to pay smaller business and enterprises. He was not fond of industry, but as he did with many things, saw the value in it. Carl’s custom was most valued and appreciated by most of his suppliers.

He dropped his bag by the door as he closed and locked the door up behind him and shirked off his coat and removed his hat, placing them on the nearby coat stand. Of course, that was when he heard the creaking of floorboards and turned to see the light of a candle growing brighter and brighter as a figure emerged from a nearby corridor, clocked for a moment, in shadow. Markus would deny his apprehension at the sight if he were ever asked at a later date. “Who are you?” Markus heard the figure ask as he approached slowly. 

Markus could see now the person before him was a man with pale ginger hair and olive green eyes. He wore a simple white nightshirt and a nightcap and had one arm secured around his waist where he held pale green dressing gown shut. One his other hand he held up a candle holder with a candle in it that glowed brightly despite almost being burned down to the wick. “Markus Manfred,” he said quickly, deciding not to play coy with the man. “Who are you?” he asked. “I don’t know you.”

The other man’s eyes widened a little, and after a moment, he saw the man relax and offer Markus a kind smile and a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” he said. “I thought you were an intruder,” he explained, placing the candle down onto to a nearby console table and moving across the room. “My name is Jerry Dana,” he explained. “Mr. Manfred hired me after your departure,” he continued, reaching down to take Markus’ bag in his hand. Markus almost declined the assistance but stopped himself. It was obvious the man was simply being polite. “He assured me that you may make your visits unannounced...although I would not have expected the hour...”

Markus let out a hum of amusement. Judging by the sympathetic look on Mr. Dana’s face, it was clear that Markus looked just as drained as he felt. “I have had...a long day,” he said by way of explanation. Curious as he looked, he appreciated that Mr. Dana did not press him for answers and instead gestured him further into the house.

“Come, we shall have you settled in,” he said and the pair of them made their way to what was once Markus’ room.

“Thank you, Mr. Dana,” Markus said when they reached the door of his room, and the other man handed him his bag. 

“Jerry, please,” Jerry said with an honest smile. “I insist.”

The openness was honestly a welcome change to Markus and his frayed nerves. So, he merely offered the man a polite smile of his own in return and nodded. “Very well. Jerry, it is,” he said. “Thank you.”

With one final nod and a gentle smile, Jerry left Markus to himself as he returned to his bed. Closing his bedroom door behind him, Markus dropped his luggage, kicked off his shoes and removed his jacket and waistcoat before he collapsed onto his bed. If one were to ask, Markus would say that he could not recall what his final thought that night had been, but would not say what his first thought was the next morning. 

* * *

When Markus woke the next day, he was bone-tired. He heaved a great sigh and rolled onto his back to stare at the ceiling and blinking languidly to chase the exhaustion away. The sun was shining through the window invasively. He had forgotten in his haste to sleep the night prior, to close the curtains, and as such found himself rudely awoken by the sun itself. Markus supposed there could have been worst things, but that did not mean he wished it. 

He sat up, sloth-like and loath to face the day, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he sat up. Leaning forward, buried his face in his hands, elbows resting heavily on his knees. He rubbed at his face in an attempt to reinvigorate himself, with limited success. Markus was no stranger to idle days, but it felt like the punishment it was intended to be when it was thrust upon him. He wished he could have defied their expectation and faced the day eagerly, knowing he would return to work on Tuesday safe in the knowledge that everything would be as it was. Of course, that was not to be the case. 

Simon had distanced himself from Markus, and he did not know when, if ever, Simon would forgive him. Daniel and Lady Warren would no doubt approve of the rift between them if they had noticed any form of attachment at all. Markus had hope, however, that he had gained enough approval from Lady Warren that she would refuse to dismiss him should Daniel insist upon it. He had outmatched previous employees. Then, he remembered his encounter with Ralph. 

Lady Warren was watching him. 

He took one final deep breath through his nose before he lowered his hands and rose to his feet, moving across the room to dig through his luggage for a change of clothes. He wore a simple cream suit with a white shirt and turquoise waistcoat, decorated with pale green floral patterns accompanied by a pale green ascot. He finished the look off with neat brown shoes. After dressing he took a moment to look at himself in the full-length mirror beside his door and compose himself. He was sure by now that Carl had been informed of his presence and he was not looking forward to having to explain it.

So, unable to postpone any longer, Markus finally emerged from his room and made his way to the dining room, where he expected Carl would be taking breakfast. As he approached, he heard the quiet clink of cutlery on porcelain and was met with a smile when he broached the doorway. “Markus, there you are...” Carl greeted softly, with a smile. “I wondered when I might see you.”

Markus gave Carl a fond but sheepish smile as Carl gestured for him to sit. A second steaming plate of food was set across from the elderly gentleman waiting for Markus. “Good morning Carl,” he said, moving to take his seat and startling on his breakfast without protest.

“Not that I’m displeased by you being here,” Carl continued after a long pause, allowing Markus time to eat before they continued their conversation. “But was there a reason for your dramatic and clandestine visit?”

“And exaggeration if I ever heard one,” Markus said with an amused smirk. “I’m afraid I have had disciplinary action taken against me,” Markus explained sullenly, gaze falling to his breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Jerry had done a masterful job preparing them the way Carl liked. No doubt Jerry had been schooled on it by him. 

Carl’s answering frown was not one of disappointment, but concern. “What happened, Markus?”

Markus took a breath and looked off to the side thoughtfully, wondering just how much he should expose. In the end, however, he relaxed his shoulders and fixed Carl with a calm, but austere expression. “I stepped between a physical altercation between Simon and Daniel Warren,” he explained. There was nothing but honesty and affection between himself and Carl. It was a relationship unlike any he had ever had. “Over an issue I had no right to interfere in.”

“Oh,” Carl said, eyebrows raised in intrigue. “Lady Warren’s house is truly a den of scandal...”

Markus shook his head fondly in amusement and let out a short laugh. “You have no idea,” he said, his expression falling as he recalled Simon and all that he had gone through. “Although it isn’t half as entertaining as it seems.”

Carl was silent as he contemplated Markus. Markus had learnt a long time ago not to interrupt the man when he was deep in thought. Some of his best work derived from such silence. “That’s not the only thing on your mind, is it?” Carl asked, looking beneath the surface as he was want to do. 

“No,” Markus said, pushing his meal away from him with a frown. He felt his stomach twist into knots. “If it’s all the same to you, Carl, I would sooner leave this where it lies.”

The thoughtful hum that followed was a familiar one. The subject dropped but not forgotten. “I sent Jerry on some errands this morning,” Carl explained, waving his hand and gesturing for Markus to move around the table, apparently done with his food. “Help an old man, would you?”

Markus nodded and stood, finished with his own meal, he dutifully stood and moved around the table to take Carl into his arms as he had often done in the past and carried the elderly man into the livingroom. It was warm as usual and Markus placed Carl down in his armchair and threw a blanket over his legs before taking a seat on the last available armchair beside the other man. It was a routine he was happy to fall back into, if only briefly. Carl did have a wheelchair, but it was a bulky, ungainly thing and their home was spacious enough for it, but the doorways were too thin and made most of the house inaccessible by a wheelchair. The chair was only really fit for public excursions. It was much easier to simply carry Carl from room to room.

“I expect Jerry will be gone for hours,” Carl said after a long moment of quiet peace between them. “I gave him some instructions to find some very specific candlesticks,” he said to Markus with a mischievous smile. “He may never find them.”

Markus gave Carl an exasperated look and sighed. “Carl,” he began. “Do not torment the staff, please.”

“I know, I know,” Carl said, waving a hand with an unapologetic grin. “But when I heard you were here, I didn’t want any interruptions,” he said, his expression falling slightly. “I’ll be honest,” Carl started. “I doubted that whatever brought you to my door at three o’clock in the morning could have been anything good.”

Markus looked away from Carl then. The older man was watching him, searching for answers in his eyes that he did not want to give and clues in his posture he wished he could avoid. He wondered if this is what Simon felt every day. The thought, of course, was enough to have Markus lurch to his feet, and over to the liquor cabinet at the far end of the room. He was quick to pour himself a large glass of whiskey. He wished his shaking hands were a figment of a guilty imagination. 

“Wonderful,” Carl said casually, but it wasn’t hard to hear the edge of concern in his tone. “We are drinking after all,” he said. Markus, who might usually have protested Carl’s unhealthy habits, simply nodded and poured Carl a much more reasonable glass of whiskey. He turned and marched back over to their chairs and took a seat.

Carl took his drink when it was offered and the pair turned their attention to the fireplace. It was bright and warm as usual and illuminated the room as if it were the sun itself. Everything was cast in a warmth that Markus could not feel. He felt his frayed nerves stinging at his thoughts. He couldn’t help but imagine the way Simon must have felt - always - forever feeling like some kind of hunted deer. One wrong move, one wrong step or look or statement and he might find himself the owner of a new hempen necklace. How terrifying it must be to stand across from another man and wonder who they are; friend or foe or something more?

They sat together for some time, drinking quietly. When Carl had his second drink, Markus was on his third, and his mouth had gone numb with it. It was only then when Markus felt himself relax a little that Carl spoke again. “Now, my boy...” he said slowly, speaking softly as if trying not to startle a frightened beast.

“Carl, please...” Markus said, ducking his head a little, eyes landing on the glass he had encircled in both his hands. “I don’t know what to do anymore...”

“That’s the funny thing about age,” Carl said with a soft sigh. “For all the aches and pains, it certainly gives a man perspective,” Carl told Markus, who turned to look at him then. It was then that Carl offered him a gentle smile, “and wisdom enough to know when to tell his children to trust him,” he paused. “And when they’re being idiots.”

Markus who had opened his mouth to speak, paused, and chuckled incredulously. “Which occasion is this?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“I think this calls for both,” Carl said, offering Markus a patient smile.

Markus watched Carl for some time, before he turned to look into the fireplace, eyes flicking over the dancing flames, trying to figure out where they began and where they ended and whether the flames that licked the air were one or many. “I’m not sure,” Markus said. “I think,” he could deny it, but Carl would never be convinced of it. So, he thought to himself that he needn’t confess all, but he wanted to tell Carl. He _ needed _ Carl to know. “I am in love...”

There was a brief moment of silence. “That’s it?” Carl asked, obviously confused. “But, that’s wonderful news, Markus.”

Wonderful, Markus thought, and perilous. His answering laugh was humourless, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Yes,” was all Markus could say in response. “I suppose.” 

“Ah,” Carl began. “Your love is unrequited,” he said, tilting his head slightly to watch Markus more closely.

“Worse,” Markus all but confirmed. “I fear it is lost to me forever. I have made a terrible mistake and I cannot make it right.”

At that, Carl sighed, and Markus once again turned to look at Carl, frowning faintly. “Markus, I am an old man,” he said. “Life is short, son,” Carl continued, leaning forward and placing a comforting hand on Markus’ knee, tone much more affectionate now. “Grab it by the horns and make things right with that girl,” he said. “Marry her before the week is out of you must. You never know when I might kick the bucket, as I’ve heard the saying go.”

“Carl,” Markus sighed, shaking his head and moving to pick up the decanter that had migrated from the liquor cabinet to the table between them, and poured himself another drink. “I wish it were so easy. I truly do.”

“Alas,” Carl said. “Young love...”

Markus said nothing, choosing to take a sip of his drink, steeling his nerves. “Forgive me,” Markus started after a pause, frowning at the drink in his hands, brows furrowed together in discontent. “All these years you have loved me like a son and I...” he swallowed then and felt his hands begin to shake anew. “I am afraid I must disappoint you.”

Carl’s expression turned serious then. His expression had been patient, even amused at times, but now all traces of humour were lost and for once, Carl looked his age. “What is this about, Markus?” He asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Well,” Markus said quietly. “I doubt very much you will see me married,” he admitted softly. “I...”

“Markus,” Carl chided gently, sitting back in his chair now. “At my age, there is very little that can surprise me.”

Markus’ laughter was nothing more than a huff of disbelief. “Then please let this be one you never have,” he pleaded, meeting Carl’s eyes again. “Please...leave this be.”

Carl snorted in disbelief. “You have cared for me for years,” he told Markus, frowning. “Let it be my turn to return the favour. If it is my confidence you require, you have it. No question,” he informed Markus with a gentle smile, folding his hands in his lap as he coaxed Markus into opening up. Markus was reserved but had a predisposition for romanticism, despite his steady demeanour. The man was a poet and an idealist. If so inclined, Markus would make a fine philosopher. He was, after all, in possession of considerable intelligence and an even bigger heart. Although he did possess a certain amount of pragmatism.

“You will disown me,” Markus said with a note of finality of his voice as if he had decided the outcome even before Carl could make his own judgement. It made the elderly man roll his eyes a little. 

“That’s my decision to make,” he said firmly. “Do you really think so little of me?”

“Of course not,” Markus said with a sigh. 

“So,” Carl began slowly, gesturing at Markus. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Markus downed the rest of his drink again and winced at the burning in his throat. He was quiet for some time and Carl waited patiently for him to speak again. When he finally did, Markus found he could not look Carl in the eye. “I am...” he started, faltering after a moment. “It is...a man I love. Or...I think I do.”

There was a pause. “Oh,” Carl said as if something had just occurred to him. “Then you had better invite him over for dinner.”

Perhaps it was the drink or the dizziness that came with it, but Markus felt as if the rug had been pulled out from under him. He was convinced that Carl had said, “dinner?” he asked, raising his head faster than he thought possible.

“Yes,” Carl affirmed. “You’re quite fortunate,” he told Markus. “Apparently someone told our Mr. Anderson to call,” he informed Markus with a smile. “So, we’ve arranged to have dinner tonight. He is apparently bringing a companion,” he explained with a casual air Markus felt had no place in the conversation. “What’s one more guest?” A brief pause. “Well. Two, now that you are here.”

“Wh...what?” Markus asked, dumbly, fingers slackening around the glass he cradled in his hands. 

Carl let out a fond chuckle. “Markus,” he said with an indulgent shake of the head. “You don’t think I know men like you?” he asked. “In my line of work, I’ve come across many kinds of people,” said gently. “Mollies are nothing new,” he said with a smile. “Why, I dare say I’m no stranger to indulging, although that was many years ago and I made some of the greatest friends I have ever known,” then he paused, his expression saddened for just a moment. “I won’t reveal any names, but suffice to say I have outlived most of them.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Markus how varied a life Carl had led. He had assumed, for all the controversy that followed Carl that even he drew the line somewhere. Of course, Markus had never discovered where that line lay. “I’m sorry,” Markus said perhaps a little weakly in his astonishment. “I just thought...”

Carl raised a hand to silence Markus, his expression kind. “You thought what society wanted you to think,” Carl interrupted. “And it’s a fair and _ safe _ assumption to make,” he said. He was well enough aware of the danger that he was not angry with Markus for being so reluctant to tell him the truth. 

“You really don’t mind?” Markus asked, still in disbelief, as relieved as he felt. The weight on his shoulders had been lifted, but it was still somewhat of a shock to know that even now, Carl was prepared to love him. 

“No,” Carl said affectionately although his expression slipped into something more serious. “The world is full of pompous, closed-minded and ignorant fools with no vision for the future,” he said soberly. “One thing I learnt when I was no older than you are now was that you should never let anyone tell you who to be.” Again he leant forward and patted Markus on the knee reassuringly. “Now, why not send for him?”

Markus frowned then and shook his head. “He will not speak to me,” Markus said. “And will not let me speak to him,” he admitted. “It...is driving me mad.”

“Well, last I checked,” Carl started slowly, “writing a letter of invitation is hardly a conversation,” he laughed. “Why, you need not even speak.”

A thoughtful silence followed. It would be something, to try and repair the rift between them, whether or not Simon felt the same way. He would be more than happy to simply watch Simon from afar so long as Markus remained in his employ. It would be safer for them - for Simon - to remain as they were, but Markus wanted to be selfish. He stood on unsteady feet, and nodded a little, steeling his nerves again. “Alright,” he said. “I will, but...” he contemplated slowly, “if he comes...what then? I cannot speak to him.”

“...Why is that?”

Markus felt his face flushed. “I made a foolish declaration and he is holding me to it,” he admitted. In hindsight, promising eternal silence, regardless of the unrealistic grandeur of the statement, was absurdity at its best. 

Carl laughed heartily and shook his head. It had been a long time since Markus had heard Carl laugh like that. “Then you had better find some other way of communicating,” he said with a grin. “That said, I think perhaps you should sober up first...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun, dun, duuun.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I'm happy that I got to write a whole scene with Carl, whom we all love, I'm sure. 
> 
> Sometimes, you just need an irresponsible adult to tell you how it be.


	12. A Song of Hope, Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus meets the challenge ahead of him enthusiastically...and is forced to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sure is happening right now. I'm so excited.

Following Carl’s advice, Markus did indeed endeavour to shake his intoxication. It had been far too early in the day to drink, but he had been so rattled by the thought of what could have come from his conversation with Carl that he could not stand to be sober for it. The idea that alcohol might soften to the blow to the rejection he had expected had settled in his mind like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pond, neither intrusive or comforting, but present.

What he had not expected what Carl’s unflinching support and unfaltering affection. Markus felt the weight on his shoulders had been lifted, and he felt giddy with it. He felt himself smiling even as he bathed and dressed. He drank several glasses of water before he took Carl’s advice and sought some other way to convey his feelings to Simon, and earn his forgiveness. He found himself in the music room, where Carl now sat with a book in his hands. Another fireplace roared and a number of upholstered chairs and a chaise lounge were set in the middle of the room, facing a grand piano which was made from a warm wood, which accompanied by the dark green wallpaper and warm wooden floor, gave the room a close, intimate air. 

Markus moved over to the piano, a small collection of paper in his hands. Carl watched him carefully, a curious smile on his face. “What do you have there?”

“Sheet music,” Markus explained, placing the paper on a writing desk nearby where an inkwell and pen waited for him. “You recall I tried my hand at composing, years ago?”

Carl nodded. “I seem to remember you getting too frustrated to continue,” he said with a small chuckle. 

“Well,” Markus began, looking sheepish at having his lack of perseverance pointed out. “Yes,” he admitted hesitantly, the smile slipping from his face for a fraction of a second before it returned. Nothing would dampen his spirits now he had direction. “But, I had been missing something,” he explained, jubilantly. He picked up a sheet of paper and waved it vaguely at Carl as if he would be able to make sense of it all from a distance. “I couldn’t put my finger on it before. It came to me in the shower,” he said finally looking back at Carl.

“I’m sure it did,” Carl said, pulling a face Markus could not make head nor tails of. He was, however, too distracted to discern the meaning of it regardless.

Markus pulled the writing desk closer to the piano and took a seat on the piano stool, already making new marks on the old sheet music. “Hopefully,” Markus said, turning to the piano and playing a series of notes, refamiliarising himself with the tune. “I will have something presentable for tonight’s entertainment this afternoon.”

“Afternoon?” Carl asked, raising a brow. “You have all day.”

“No, I don’t,” Markus said, turning to the sheet music again, only sparing Carl a quick glance as he focused on his work. “I am going shopping,” then, he paused, the smile, which sat contentedly on his face slipped again. “Carl?”

“Do you need to borrow some money?” Carl asked, a slow smile spreading across his face at the sheepish expression that followed. 

“I wound up spending what I had on travel last night,” Markus explained quietly. “I can repay you as soon as I am paid,” he added hurriedly, to which Carl raised a hand to stop him.

“I would go bankrupt in the name of love,” Carl said laughingly. “Well,” he said. “Almost.”

Markus chuckled softly. “Thank you,” he said gratefully.

The pair of them lapsed into silence, and the feeling of contentment washed over Markus again as he wrote his sheet music, filling the room with a song he hoped would speak to nobody but Simon himself. A song not meant for anybody but him. Of course, he meant to entertain the evening’s guest but it wasn’t them he was trying to reach. Carl listened, his attention divided between his book and the music. He couldn’t say he could make music the way Markus could, his preferred medium being oil paint and canvas. Carl could make art swim with emotion and Markus made music like he was filling a room with life. 

It wasn’t until the chime of a grandfather clock somewhere in the hallway sang out that the pair stopped in mid-afternoon. Markus made sure Carl was left with everything he needed before he reluctantly left the piano and his home behind, putting on his coat and hat before he ventured into town.

* * *

He caught a carriage that drove him into town, passing a familiar park and heading toward a familiar florist. Markus, not knowing where to begin monopolised one of the florist’s time. His discussion of not only the available flowers but their meanings with the florist - a gentle, pale woman with dark hair just beginning to see grey, whose name he had not asked - had her smiling fondly at him. She also seemed unable to keep from crooning about the girl who was lucky enough to find such a thoughtful gentleman. The owner of the store - her husband, Markus assumed, had given Markus a look as if he expected some level of trouble when he arrived and had been hesitant to leave his wife to handle his business. She, however, was determined not to send Markus’ custom away. She was patient with his ignorance of the language of flowers, and his absolute desire to find the perfect composition.

By the end of it, they had an eclectic but striking bouquet of white carnations, and an assortment of roses, whose colours varied from red to white, yellow and pink. To add some variation, of course, was the flower that Markus regarded as the most significant of all. It’s petals markedly different to either carnation or rose, it added shape an character. Out of season and so, more expensive, the phlox gave the bouquet a little something extra. Then, the star of Bethlehem littered throughout. It was a wild thing and not necessarily especially attractive, but it wasn’t the appearance that mattered. Markus was only thankful that Carl had been generous with the amount of money he had been given. 

When he finally returned home at four in the afternoon, the winter sky was already beginning to darken and Markus was overcome with apprehension and felt the nervous lump in his throat as if he had a rock lodged within. He took a deep breath, and exited the carriage and re-entered his home.

* * *

There was a nervous energy to him now, as he placed the bouquet carefully on a console table by the door before removing his jacket and hat. He went in search of a vase. Eventually, he settled on an opaque white vase that Carl had painted himself. It was not in the popular style, but there was little in the house, apart from perhaps the wallpaper that was. Anything that was not nailed down or attached to the wall had Carl’s diversified tastes painted (sometimes literally) all over it. The vase was no exception. The flowers were little more than splashes of colour, shaped enough like flowers for them to be recognisable as such. Markus appreciated it, although the lack of fine detail would be regarded as pure laziness by others if they were not already familiar with Carl’s body of work. 

He placed the bouquet within the tall, fluted vase, and arranged them carefully, fussing more than he might have deemed necessary to perfect the display. He placed the vase on the table at the back of the foyer, where it sat in front of a portrait of Carl and his son Leonard that Carl was not responsible for painting, on a dark wooden table in an explosion of colour. He swallowed as he took a step back to survey his work, and hoped that Simon would take the time to look. 

“Markus!” came a familiar call. Pushing his worries to one side, Markus moved back into the music room where Carl sat, his book closed in his lap as he watched the door, waiting for Markus to appear. 

“I’m here, Carl,” Markus said softly. “I apologise, I hadn’t meant to be gone so long,” he added sincerely. “Do you need anything?”

“A little help to get ready for the evening, if you please,” Carl asked and Markus smiled, nodding. 

“Of course, Carl,” he said as approached the man, taking him into his arms and taking him up to his bedroom. Markus took care of Carl’s needs and the pair of them dressed for the evening. An hour later and Carl was returned to his place in the living room, wearing a pale grey suit with a magenta waistcoat and golden-brown ascot. 

Markus himself wore a black suit with a wine-red waistcoat and white ascot of his own. Neither man wore their jackets, feeling comfortable enough in their own home to forgo that formality. 

Then, of course, they heard the front door open, and the rustling of someone removing their outer clothes, and hurried footsteps. The pair watched as the familiar face of Jerry, Carl’s new man, peered into the doorway of the livingroom, searchingly. He smiled broadly when he found them and stepped into the room. “I’m so sorry to have been gone all day,” he explained. In fairness to him, Markus had almost completely forgotten about Jerry since their conversation that morning, and was for a moment, puzzled by his presence. “But I _ found _ them,” Jerry said, pulling a pair of candlesticks out from behind his back.

They were the ugliest things Markus had ever seen.

“Oh my god,” Carl mumbled, and Markus was unable to keep from grinning at the flabbergasted look on his face. The candlesticks were tall, thin brass things, and looking closely, Markus could see that the base of the candlesticks was rounded, and decorated with webbed feet - duck feet. The stem of the candlesticks made up the duck’s legs, with knobbly knees and even went so far as to add, in particular, the finer details of the duck’s skin. “How did you find them?”

“I went to every store I could think of,” Jerry explained, still smiling proudly. “Even antique stores, although I had no luck in any of them,” he explained. “I even called on my brother Jeremiah, who has been known to collect one or two more...unique items like these, but he had nothing of the sort,” he told them. Markus and Carl merely waited in befuddled silence as Jerry continued his tale. “And eventually, I remembered that my brother Jeremy had contacts with some foreign traders that might have something - and wouldn’t you know it!” he grinned, near enough jumping on the spot. “They did!”

Markus and Carl shared a look. “Jerry, Jeremiah and...Jeremy,” Carl mumbled. “Your parents seem to like alliteration, if I may be so bold as to observe,” Carl said slowly.

“Oh, well,” Jerry began. “With eight of us, my mother and father thought it would be adorable if we shared similar names.”

“Eight siblings?” Markus said, raising a brow in disbelief. Now, having a large family was not unusual, but it was rare for Markus to come across anyone with more than five members in their household. 

“Octuplets,” Jerry said with a smile, there was a brief pause as Carl let out a slow exhale, unable to keep his surprise to himself, no doubt thinking, like Markus, what an impressive labour that must have been for Jerry’s mother. 

“Well,” Carl said after a stretch of silence that Carl quite deliberately cut short. “Why not put them in storage for now and we will find a home for them tomorrow,” Carl instructed, and Jerry nodded, quick to bustle away. 

“Eight,” Markus repeated, once again meeting Carl’s stunned gaze, before the two of them erupted into quiet laughter, their disbelief finally overcoming them. 

“Tally-ho, Mrs. Dana,” Carl chuckled.

“Incredible,” Markus smiled, shaking his head. 

“I just can’t believe he found the candlesticks!” Carl said, nudging Markus conspiratorially. “What a wonder that boy is,” he chortled, shaking his head. Markus couldn’t quite believe that not only did Carl send Jerry out of a fool’s errand, but that such an item existed at all. More to the point, Jerry had achieved the seemingly impossible. 

“If you don’t mind, Carl,” Markus said after the pair of them had lapsed into a comfortable silence. “I would quite like to work on my composition,” he explained. “Will you be alright?”

Carl nodded and waved a hand. “Jerry is home now,” he said. “You can go about your business undisturbed.”

Markus’ brows furrowed slightly. “You know I don’t find it burdensome for me to care for you,” he said. 

“I know, my boy,” Carl said with a soft smile. “But you have some wooing to do.”

Markus couldn’t help the way his skin flushed. He didn’t quite appreciate the way Carl had phrased his observation, but he knew that Carl wasn’t wrong, so he merely smiled awkwardly, nodded and left to go to the music room, where he remained until the first of the evening’s guests arrived. 

* * *

Markus was anxious. He realised that when he heard a knock at the door, and moments later the sound of it being opened. He stood, listening to Jerry manage their newly arrived guests, taking their coats and hats before politely leading them into the livingroom where Carl waited. There was no mistaking Mr. Anderson’s slightly gruff baritone or his heavy footsteps. It wasn’t until Markus reached the livingroom himself that he was met with another guest - the youthful man he and Simon had acquainted themselves with in the Park after their debate had gotten a little out of hand. He was dressed in a neat black dinner suit with a navy blue bowtie and a grey waistcoat with neat black shoes. Hank too, wore a black dinner suit, although his tie was the traditional white. His waistcoat, however, seemed to be an ugly brown and green pinstriped affair. It was not the worst thing Markus had seen him in, but the bold colours were somewhat out of fashion. Hank never was one to keep up with the trends. It was almost comical how he and Carl were almost polar opposites in that respect. Where Hank dwelled in the past, Carl always seemed to look to the future. He was ahead of many in attitude, and an inspiration to Markus because of it. 

He greeted the pair with a smile and a polite bow. They seemed surprised to see him, but they too met him cordially and then returned to their seats. Markus smiled and made conversation, always listening for the sound of a knock at the door. Only when Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stern had arrived did Markus realise that Simon had sent no note ahead to confirm his attendance, and he wondered now if Simon would even come. He had been so focused on trying to make perfect what he had prepared that he did not even consider the possibility that Simon would be too upset to consent to call. 

“I do apologise,” he heard Carl say. “We are waiting on one more guest,” he explained to the pair, who had been waiting patiently, more than happy to converse with the two Manfreds. “And we can adjourn to the dining room for dinner.”

“That’s quite alright,” Connor said. He was a soft-spoken young man, pleasant in countenance, although he sat rigidly in his chair with his back straight as a ruler as if he did not know how to relax. Markus wondered, perhaps, that he felt out of place. Hank was comfortable - or at least trying to affect the notion. He sat back in his chair, holding a drink in his hand, which he glanced at occasionally, but rarely seemed to drink. Connor’s drink remained mostly untouched. He had, until this point, been deeply engaged in conversation about some of the more bizarre furnishings in Carl’s Livingroom. Hank, of course, had reprimanded him for being impertinent, but Carl laughed it off and indulged his curiosity. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I haven’t had much in the way of good company for a long time,” Connor said with a smile. 

“Well, if you left the station from time to time, perhaps you would,” Hank said with a frown. Connor looked neither amused or offended at the remark, seeming to accept it as truth and conceded the point with a nod. Markus marvelled at his composture. 

Markus discreetly downed half his own drink, placing a hand on the arm of his chair and waited, shoulders tense. He tried to ignore the way the well of hope in his chest began to drain. It had been some time since Hank and Connor had arrived and dinner would not keep forever. There was only so long Jerry could keep the food warm without the quality of the meal beginning to suffer. Sooner or later Markus would have to accept that Simon would not come. 

As time wore on, Markus contributed less and less. Carl carried most of the conversation, slowly drawing Hank out of his reserved shell, which was almost as bad as Mr. Sterns’. One might even say that Connor was named aptly, if not for the way his eyes seemed alight with the emotion that he did not wear on his face. 

Then, he heard it. The faint sound of knocking. 

It was several minutes before Jerry entered the room, announcing the new arrival. “L-Lord Simon Warren has arrived,” Jerry said formally, appearing for a moment a little flustered. Apparently, this was the first time (judging by his reaction alone) that he had met a lord of any kind. 

Simon stepped into the room and Markus shot thoughtlessly to his feet, taking but half a step forward before he forced himself to stop, ignoring the strange looks the motion provoked in Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stern. Simon looked vaguely alarmed for a moment before he turned his attention away from Markus, who sank back into his chair, watching as Simon bowed to the other guests. “I apologise for my lateness,” he offered Carl, who nodded although he looked faintly surprised. “I regret that I was delayed on personal matters.”

“Not at all,” Carl said and gestured for Simon to come forward “Now, come here and let this old man take a look at you.”

Simon looked perhaps a little startled by the request but he obeyed after a moment of hesitation. He moved across the room in his black dinner suit, adorned with a white bowtie and pale blue waistcoat, embroidered with subtle powder-blue floral patterns. Markus thought the ensemble complimented Simon’s eyes and pale visage nicely. 

When Carl held out his hands, Simon bent forward slightly and gave Carl his hand to hold, which he did, firmly but gently as he seemed to look Simon over. “Well,” he observed, seeming pleased. “I haven’t seen you since you were a lad,” he said with a smile. Simon’s answering smile could only be described as shy. “Almost a decade now, I think,” Carl pondered aloud. 

“I think so,” Simon agreed. “I’m ashamed to say I remember little of you,” he admitted, gaze falling a little to the side, avoiding eye contact. Markus endeavoured to hide his surprise. 

Carl chuckled a little and shook his head. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “We have plenty of time to get reacquainted,” he informed Simon casually. “It is quite the happy surprise to see you,” he told Simon with a bit of a furtive smile. “Markus neglected to inform me who his guest actually was, now that I think about it...” he said, glancing at Markus out the corner of his eye.

Markus paused. “I suppose I did neglect to mention,” he said to Carl with a sheepish smile. 

Simon was watching him now, and Markus wasn’t sure whether or not he imagined the way the corner of Simon’s mouth twitched as if to repress a smile. The moment, however, did not last long, as Carl moved, releasing his hold on Simon’s hand and allowing the younger man to stand up straight once more. “You’ve grown up nicely, I see...” Carl said and Simon turned to him and offered him another shy smile before he turned and settled himself down in an armchair nearby. 

“Thank you,” he said softly when he was comfortable. 

“Tell me, Lord Simon,” Carl began, but Simon smiled and held up a hand briefly.

“Simon, please,” he said but did not interrupt further.

“Simon, then,” Carl acquiesced. “I received a rather interesting bouquet from an admirer of my work this morning,” he explained, and his three guests regarded him with interest. Markus seemed to still, listening intently. “And Markus informs me you’re quite adept at identifying flowers and their meanings. Did you happen to see it on your way in?”

Simon blinked and looked puzzled and shook his head. “I’m afraid not,” he told Carl with a faint frown. “I thought it best not to dawdle. I was already disgracefully late.”

Carl hummed thoughtfully and nodded. “Well, we have all evening to dissect the meaning of the mysterious bouquet,” he said with a chuckle. “But for now, perhaps we should make our way to the dining room.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like, I said. I'm excited. For dinner. This is going great, right?
> 
> You can spend some time finding out the meanings of the flowers, but I recommend you wait, wink wink.


	13. A Song of Hope, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The evening's pleasantries morph into something else, and Markus witnesses fury, passion and the clash of the titans in the world. He endeavours not to allow his plans for the evening to unravel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long, but I have been SO busy and all I have wanted to do was finish this chapter. To tell you the truth, in part its been the project I started, AND lockdown has been hard on my sister, so she needs a lot from me right now AND I have started streaming on Twitch and teaming up WITH my sister on that. It's a recent thing and we only started on the 8th of April, so it's all really new and it's been consuming my life up until this point. 
> 
> But it's here, I'm happy and I'm busier than probably ever and I'm fine with that!

It was not long after Simon’s arrival that Carl rang a small copper handbell (an item Carl used only for when guests visited the home, for the sake of formality), and Jerry re-entered the room, standing in the doorway with his hands clasped behind him. His posture was correct, although most staff typically conveyed a politely blank expression, Jerry seemed unable to resist the urge to smile, attentive and cheerful as ever he was. Carl returned the look.

“What is the status of our meal, Mr. Dana?” Carl asked, politely. 

Aware that all sets of eyes in the room were on him, Jerry did a marvellous job of remaining calm. Markus was almost certain that this was the first formal occasion Jerry had had to cater to in Carl's home, and it was already clear he had never served a lord before. Of course, without knowledge of his prior experience, Markus could not judge whether Jerry would be well equipped enough to handle the situation. “Ready,” Jerry supplied immediately. “Would you like me to serve dinner, sir?”

“Yes,” Carl nodded. “If you wouldn’t mind assisting me into the dining room,” he said, gesturing vaguely. Markus moved to stand even as Jerry took a step forward, both men moving to aid the elderly man. Of course, both men clocked the movement and paused, sharing a glance before turning their attention to Carl.

“Let me help you, Carl,” Markus offered after an awkward moment passed between himself and Jerry. “That way Jerry can begin to serve dinner.”

“No, no,” Carl said with a shake of the head. “Jerry has it all in hand,” he assured Markus with a dismissive wave of the hand before gesturing for Jerry to come closer.

For a moment, Markus couldn’t help but feel almost shunned. It had been a long time since Carl had refused his help. “I see,” Markus said, almost somberly, although he made no move to retake his seat, instead choosing to watch as Jerry helped Carl sit up in his seat and begin to take him into his arms. There was a brief pause as Carl shuffled forward, but surveyed Markus carefully as he ducked his head, watching the ground in a way he hadn’t done since he was a boy. It felt odd to be made to feel redundant, even when Markus knew it was not at all Carl’s intention to do so, at least not in the malicious sense of the word. It wasn’t until that moment that Markus had truly realised that Carl didn’t _ need _ him anymore or at least not his help. It felt like a step up and away from Carl, not to be relied upon so heavily as he had been. Carl could and had found help elsewhere. Still, in all the time that had passed, Markus had made the assumption that he would simply fulfil the role he had once had whenever he stepped across the threshold of the Manfred homestead and found, once again, that he had been incorrect in his beliefs. 

A small part of him found that he would miss taking care of Carl. Markus had known of course that one day, he would no longer need to, but he had always thought that he would see the man to the end of his days and they would face that moment together. 

“Markus,” Carl began seriously, tilting his head and catching the younger man’s gaze. “I need you to show our esteemed guest that bouquet I mentioned,” he said by way of explanation. He smiled only when Markus lifted his gaze to Carl again, a hesitant, quietly relieved smile washing over his features. Conscious of the entire interaction being on display for others to see, Markus’ gaze flicked across the room. Mr. Stern and Mr. Anderson were watching with mild interest, although Hank appeared more understanding of the nature behind it all than Connor, who seemed, at best, mildly confused by the mix-up Markus had caused.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Simon watching him and only him but when he turned to look, Simon was quick to look away, directing his gaze to the other guests in the room. Markus hoped he had not imagined the look of carefully measured concern. It had been some time since he had seen Simon as guarded as he was now, with the exception of the previous night. It was hard to forget Simon’s anger and contentious silence, but that had been markedly different to Simon’s usual, practised reserve. He had never been more alike to Daniel than at that moment. He wondered, briefly, if Daniel would reflect Simon in ways Markus did not expect.

“Oh,” Markus said with a nod of understanding, “I would be happy to,” he added obligingly as he slipped his thumb into the pocket of his trousers and felt the brush of paper against his skin. He watched Simon turn to him again and offer him a small, polite smile. Both he and Markus made an attempt to ignore the parting, curious parting glances their silence drew from the two lawmen in the room. It was only because Markus was watching him so intently that he noticed the way Simon’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly once everyone had begun to file out of the room.

Simon rose from his chair when Carl and Jerry filtered out of the room with Hank and Connor in tow, blue eyes flicking to and from the door as if wishing he might follow. Markus tried to ignore the tightness in his chest at the thought that Simon seemed to want little to nothing to do with him. That said, Markus was very much aware of the fact that Simon was there and _ present _. It made him wonder what it was exactly that Simon was after.

Aware of his restrictions, however, Markus merely returned the smile and took a moment to run his palms over his trouser pockets. He felt relieved at the welcome pressure of the paper press against his thigh and his jaw tightened for just a moment as he swallowed his nerves. He walked to the door and calmly gestured for Simon to follow. If Simon was perturbed by the lack of communication, he did not show it and followed after him, wordlessly.

They went only as far as the foyer, watching Mr. Stern disappear into the dining room, trailing behind everyone else. Markus stopped at the display table and turned to look at Simon, only to pause. Simon’s attention was on the front door, and his lips were slightly parted, shoulders tense and eyes gleaming with what Markus hoped wasn’t regret. It stung to think that he was sorry to have come.

There was but a moment of hesitation before Markus reached out, fingertips brushing the sleeves of Simon’s jacket so lightly that it surprised Markus and he flinched back when Simon jerked his arm away from the touch, evidently shocked. Simon turned to him sharply, obviously bewildered for a moment before he seemed to gather his wits and Markus thought he saw what might have been a flash of guilt.

They stared, and then, Markus gestured to the vase of flowers tentatively. Simon’s gaze moved between it and Markus before they finally settled on the bouquet, and he moved closer, leaning forward ever so slightly to inspect them. He watched Simon take it all in - eyes wandering rapidly over the awry of roses and carnations with something akin to fascinated amusement before he reached out, gently cupping the bloom of a star of Bethlehem between his fore and middle fingers, expression softening although Markus could see that Simon seemed vaguely perplexed. As he watched, Markus revelled in the way that Simon seemed so taken in by the bouquet, and wondered - hoped beyond anything he knew - that Simon liked it. Then, Simon tilted his head, releasing the star of Bethlehem slowly in favour of brushing his finger so gently across the delicate petal of a phlox that his hand trembled with the effort not to spoil the flower. Markus was surprised to see what amounted to alarm in Simon’s expression and the downward turn of his lips.

It wasn’t quite the reaction he had been hoping for.

Markus said nothing even as Simon stood up and straightened his clothes, fingers brushing over his bowtie. There was a long stretch of silence in which Simon’s attention was fixed on the flowers in front of him, his faint frown of concern ever-present. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth to speak, and Markus resisted the urge to step closure, attentive to his every word. “Well,” he began reluctantly. “That is...”

It was only then that Markus squared his shoulders and slipped his hand into his pocket, finally picking the moment to pull out the paper and unfold it, making sure he held it correctly before he lifted it out in front of him, holding it up for Simon to see with the most charming smile he could muster. Simon seemed surprised enough by the gesture that he did not immediately respond even after reading the words ‘May I speak?’ that Markus had written there. Seeing that he would receive no immediate reaction, Markus resorted to phase two of his...admittedly very short-term plan. Unfolding the page further with his little finger, Markus silently insisted with a simple written ‘please?’ and holding the paper a little closer to Simon.

The words scribbled onto the back of the paper were not for Simon’s eyes - at least not yet.

Simon’s frown did not abate, and he reached forward only to brush the note aside, pale fingers pushing a dusky wrist away from him. The touch felt cold and the sensation settled, also, into Markus’ heart at the obvious rejection. Yet, even then he waited eagerly for Simon to speak, seeing his lips part as he took a breath, about to speak. Then, as he had done so many times before, Simon decided then to hold his tongue and turn away from him and walk away.

Blindly, Markus tossed the paper aside, where it landed squarely on the console table besides the bouquet before he lurched after Simon’s retreating figure. Reaching out, he felt his hand close around Simon’s wrist and yanked him back none-too-gently, pulling him back violently enough that Simon gasped and was forced to turn on the spot or meet the floor. Instead, their chest’s collided and reflexively, Markus’ free arm wrapped around Simon’s waist whilst the other held onto Simon’s slim wrist. 

Simon threw his arm out instinctively and it found itself wrapped around Markus’ waist in turn hand clutching at the back of his waistcoat. When he tried to right himself he found himself unable, his gaze catching Markus’ own. They stared at one another, frozen and equally surprised. Markus had not intended for the two of them to crash into one another - his only goal had been to force Simon to look at him. Of course, rather than try to convey his apologies, he tilted his head, lips parting slightly, trying to impart his message in the way his eyes flicked to and from Simon’s lips. The moment between them was a long one and for a time, Simon neither acted or spoke, drawn in by the look, his eyes narrowing with what Markus hoped was desire before his lips parted and he drew in closer.

They were close enough now that they could feel their breath on one another.

Simon felt like a statue in his arms, and he looked less like a hunted deer and more like he was drowning in frozen water. Simon was petrified, and when he heard Carl’s boisterous laugh filter into the foyer from the dining room, he knew why. The sound seemed to enliven Simon and he shuddered before he pushed himself gently, but forcefully, away, taking several steps away from Markus, and glancing behind him at the other room. “The police are here,” he whispered, reproachfully. “Whatever it is you think you’re doing...” Simon cautioned, frowning. “I beg you, stop...”

Unable to help himself, Markus took a step forward and opened his mouth to speak, but Simon silenced him with the wave of a hand a retreating step back and a shake of his head. He did not allow Markus another attempt and walked hurriedly to the dining room.

Markus took a moment to collect himself, his heart sinking into the bottom of his chest where it settled like a stone. He took a breath. The evening was not over, and Markus still had more planned. The flowers had not had the desired effect, but perhaps Simon would respond better to what he had to offer in the latter part of the evening. 

It was with hope in his heavy heart that Markus stepped forward and prepared himself for whatever was to come. 

* * *

The dinner passed pleasantly enough. Carl amused the guests with anecdotes from his youth and Mr. Anderson had one or two of his own to contribute, the nature of which usually involved some very foolish criminals he had apprehended; one such story was an attempt by a thief to hide his ill-gotten gains when police arrived on his doorstep to enquire after an unrelated incident that had occurred nearby. The end result had of course been the discovery of the goods and subsequent arrest of the criminal. The story garnered laughter from most at the table save Simon, who seemed much more amused by Carl’s outlandish tales than those of Hank’s gritty realism. What amused Markus the most was the way in which Mr. Stern seemed to hang off every word said by either man as if every story held a lesson.

By the end of the meal, Mr. Stern and Mr. Anderson were in a somewhat animated debate over the usefulness of modern techniques and technology in the world of criminal investigation. “Lieutenant Anderson,” Mr. Stern was sitting beside Hank who sat on Carl’s left from where he was at the head of the table. “I happen to know that the technology to produce still, almost instantaneous and permanent impressions on paper _ is _ possible.”

Markus, who was sat on Carl’s right and thus across from Hank saw the older man shake his head and scoff indelicately. “I’ll believe that when I see it,” he grumbled. “Where do you hear this shit?”

Across from Connor, Simon choked back his drink, apparently shocked by the language, but was quick to recover and clear his throat, eyes watering a bit from the burn of the whiskey that he failed to swallow in his surprise. Simon could only smile, amused despite his suffering. Markus suspected he found the crude conversation refreshing even if he was anxious in their presence. It helped that Police Constable Stern and Lieutenant Anderson were there in a social, and leisurely capacity. 

“The latest scientific journal detailed the matter,” Mr. Stern explained, his expression equal parts severe and enthusiastic. “I have left several of the most recent editions on your desk.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” Hank offered by way of compromise. “What was it you said they were called?”

“The images are called ‘photographs’ as far as I am aware,” Mr. Stern explained. “Although it is not known when, or if, the invention will be successful or released to the public.”

“Marvelous,” Carl said with a smile. “An instant portrait, is that right?”

“I believe so,” Mr. Stern affirmed with a smile, quite glad to have someone else meet the subject with as much enthusiasm as himself. “Could you imagine the applications?”

Simon appeared puzzled and his frown turned contemplative. “What use could such a thing be?”

“Well,” Mr. Stern said, shifting in his seat to better face Simon more completely, offering the blond his full attention. He raised his hands, gesturing widely. “I think the utilisation of the photograph would be most useful in the institution of peace-keeping.”

“By which you mean the police using the photograph,” Markus chimed in, directing his comment at Mr. Stern specifically. He had done so all evening, speaking to everyone but Simon directly, so that he might maintain his word and resist the urge ever to speak to Simon, as promised. “Is that right?”

“Precisely,” Mr. Stern affirmed, and his expression was like that of a joyous puppy, more than eager to speculate on the potential of modern technology, which he seemed happy to imagine would be a successful endeavour. The optimism was refreshing, in a sense. Markus was not sure he had ever seen such blind faith in technological advancement. Even Carl took the idea of progress and the evolution of society with a grain of salt. “For example, the police could use such a thing when investigating a crime.”

“What good would that do?” Hank asked. He seemed more exasperated than angry, and as if he were a man forced to endure Mr. Stern’s apparently relentless enthusiasm for the job endlessly.

“Imagine, Lieutenant,” Mr. Stern insisted, “a frozen image of a crime scene - a murder, perhaps.”

The statement was met with an incredulous silence. Everyone at the table seemed some measure of perturbed, and Simon appeared somewhat queasy at the thought. The idea, of course, made Markus somewhat uncomfortable. Carl seemed to look on with morbid fascination, but the notion did not appear to sit well. It was Mr. Anderson who broke the silence. “Oh, Connor, that’s disgusting.”

“No - well, yes,” Mr. Stern said hastily, much to Hank's chagrin. “But you don’t understand-”

“Why would you even suggest that?” Hank protested, pointedly, leaning forward with his elbow on the table in a display of abominable manners.

Connor sighed heavily, “please, Lieutenant,” he said. “Consider it as another form of record-keeping - a matter in which you have gone to great lengths to improve upon!” He urged, sitting forward slightly in his seat as much as he could. “Imagine being able to examine the scene of a crime without returning, or giving the deceased to their family sooner than before.”

Simon had seemed, somehow, to become paler as the conversation progressed. Apparently, Simon truly had no stomach for violence. “An admirable venture I’m sure,” Markus said quickly, “I can imagine a number of other uses-”

“Like a permanent impression of the state of a room, for example!” Connor nodded.

“Yes,” Markus agreed. “But I was thinking more along the lines of family portraits, for instance.”

The expression on Mr. Stern’s face suggested that he had not thought to apply the technology to more mundane and perhaps in his mind, impractical uses. He smiled all the same, when he reconciled the thought. “What a wonderful idea.” 

“I am not sure I should like it very much at all,” Simon interjected finally, apparently quite uncomfortable with the subject of conversation.

At the head of the table, Carl hummed thoughtfully. “Why might that be, Simon?” he asked. His tone was patient and he seemed more curious than anything else. The thought of the photograph, after all, seemed to intrigue everyone but Hank. 

“I understand that it is, theoretically, a more efficient way to...capture a single moment in time” Simon began. “But to sit for a portrait is certainly more memorable than the portrait itself,” he said ponderously.

“Ah,” Carl said in understanding. “You think them impersonal.”

“But surely one would find it invigorating to take one of these photographs,” Markus began, watching the room at large. “In a single instant one has a portrait that might otherwise have taken a painter hours of work.”

“Oh, of course,” Simon said, shaking his head slightly. “Never mind those who make a living on their art - think of newspaper sketch artists, for example. What of them?”

Markus had to admit, the thought had not occurred to him. 

“Please understand,” Simon continued, his words directed to the table at large. “I do not object to industry but one must be careful to generate employment, not reduce it.”

“A very pragmatic take on the photograph,” Mr. Stern said with a nod. “I quite agree, but do you not think that sacrifices must be made for technology?”

“I _ believe _, sir, that employment is not a privilege,” Simon said reproachfully, “it is a necessity. To take it away from a man is to throw him to the abyss. Everyone is equal in that respect, rich or poor.”

“A noble view from a nobleman,” Hank piped up, sitting back in his chair and downed the drink he had in his hand, eyes narrowed and lips twisted in a cynical frown. 

Simon stiffened minutely, noticeable only to Markus due to the fact he was watching so carefully. Simon’s lips pursed, and Markus found himself almost excited to see the fire within Simon once more. He could see it rising to the surface as if Hank fed coal to the burning embers within. “I beg your pardon?” Simon asked, slowly, tone measured, turning his attention to the Lieutenant with a slight raise of a brow and the subtle, but distinct upward defiant tilt of his chin. A challenge, if only a quiet one. 

“No offence meant, of course,” Hank said - an empty platitude if Markus had ever seen one. “But what does a man like you know about hardship?”

Nobody at the table sought to intervene in the steadily brewing argument, even Markus, who wanted more than anything in that moment than to tell Hank just what it was that Simon suffered. Of course, doing something so foolish would mean throwing Simon to the wolves, so he said nothing. He did nothing. The effort it took not to meddle felt like weeds suffocating the roots of his free heart. 

Simon’s gaze upon Hank was cool. “As a man with gainful employment and a lawman, I would expect you would understand the hardships of the common folk,” said slowly, “and see that their treatment is unjust.”

The sound of each word was like music to Markus’ ears. It was a tune that Markus sang himself, although the colour of his skin prevented much, including the ability to be heard. Markus’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, more certain now than ever that he had to have Simon in his life, regardless of the illegality of it all. He couldn’t keep silent now, no matter what he had promised. Simon seemed maddened enough that he may not even notice. “Bravo,” was all he said. 

Beside Hank, Connor gave both Markus and Simon a ponderous frown.

Hank sat forward in his chair, one hand on his leg as he tapped the table in front of him, punctuating his words every now and again by tapping his fingers on the table - with quite some force. “I don’t do anything to anyone they don’t rightly deserve,” He said harshly, not bothering to mask the fact he thought Simon more than a little irksome. 

“So you think throwing entire families into Debtor’s Prison is perfectly acceptable, Lieutenant?” Simon asked. “I mean no offence, of course, but I think the law is heartless.”

This time it was Connor who spoke. He sat rigidly in his chair, although he leant forwards with his hand on the edge of the table, obviously defensive. “The law is the law,” Connor said firmly. “No matter his conscience, Lieutenant Anderson answers to it obediently, as anyone else should,” he continued, and Hank seemed to regard Connor with exasperation, not anger. “He has no _ choice! _”

Incensed, Simon stood, his hands at his side as he seemed for a moment to cool his head and school his thoughts. When he spoke next, he was calm, or at least he affected the appearance of such. “There’s _ always _ a choice,” then, without further adieu, Simon turned and left the room, gliding purposefully into the foyer.

Markus’ eyes widened, and he glanced at Carl, who surreptitiously gestured for him to follow whilst the two lawmen in the room followed Simon’s retreating figure with their eyes, although they made no moves to pursue him.

“Please excuse me,” Markus said hastily and slid out of his chair and out of the room, glad that he had done so. Simon was making his way directly to the door and did bother to pause to collect his coat or hat. Jerry was nowhere to be seen, unaware of Simon’s untimely departure. As he passed the console table, Markus snatched up the paper he had discarded there earlier that evening and ran to the door, shaking the paper wildly to unfurl it.

Simon was already opening the door when Markus reached up, and his hand and the note within it slammed the door shut. In front of Simon’s nose, the words ‘It is for you’ that were previously hidden from him were finally his to see. Simon, stunned by having his exit barred, seemed to go somehow more statuesque in his shock. He was astounded by not only the words on the page but also by the sudden feeling of the warmth of a body against his clothed back.

  
Markus was close enough that his chest brushed Simon’s dinner jacket, and he could feel Markus’ breath on his neck, where Markus leaned slightly to one side to look over Simon’s shoulder. Without a word, Markus moved his hand, revealing a final sentence that had been partially obscured by his palm. It read ‘It is all for you’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd PLANNED to do this in two parts. It looks like it's going to be three, but I feel like this evening is going to be a rollercoaster of emotions and you and me both will want to take it in slices. 
> 
> Besides, I was really excited about the way this was turning out and I couldn't wait anymore to share it with you guys.


	14. A Song of Hope, Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests retire to the music room where Markus finally gets to express himself the way he had wanted to all evening, but things do not quite go as he hopes they might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be putting a hyperlink into the story. It's only for a youtube video and I recommend you click on it when it shows up

The stillness that stretched between them felt like an eternity spent in fire. Markus burned with the desire to hear Simon shatter the silence with his voice. A word - any word - would have satisfied Markus, and yet, the quiet remained. Soon enough the only sound to fill the room was the scrape of paper against the wood of the door in front of them as Markus’ hand slipped and the paper fell to the ground, forgotten. 

It wasn’t that Simon had no inclination to speak. Markus could see the way his thoughts raced behind his eyes, searching for something, anything, to say or some conclusion to draw. This night had not met either of their expectations, no doubt. Markus had intended for Simon to see the signs and depended on his romanticism to the exclusion of all else. He had hoped Simon would respond in kind, in his own subtle, beautiful way.

When at last Simon did speak, he was quiet, turning his head just enough to make eye-contact with Markus who lingered just beyond his peripheral vision. “Say your piece and be done with it,” he whispered. 

Of course, Simon would want an explanation for his behaviour. “Stay,” Markus urged gently, shifting closer and around to better back catch Simon’s eye and surreptitiously lean against the door, perhaps hoping to bar Simon’s exit further. “I have something to tell you. Simon, please.”

Simon’s eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his name falling from Markus’ lips as if it pained him to hear it. “Tell me now,” his words, though soft, were demanding. 

“I cannot,” Markus admitted. “You will know it when you hear it.”

“Markus...” Simon breathed out, angling his body more towards the other man, shoulders slumping a little, not in relaxation, but weariness. Simon was tired, and for the first time that evening, Markus saw it. 

“Please,” Markus repeated, more firmly this time.

The silence that followed was a thoughtful one, which Markus found himself infinitely thankful for. It was better that than anything else Simon could give him. “Very well,” Simon said at length but fixed Markus with a pointed look and a faint frown. “After all,” he continued, shakily. “I came to see Mr. Manfred. So, I shall remain for the rest of the evening.”

With that, Simon stepped neatly to one side and away from Markus, who hesitated but straightened up with a nod of his head. He wasn’t sure what to make of Simon’s statement, hoping he was merely being ambiguous, and not simply cruel with his choice of words. Mr. Manfred. Although he was unlikely to find clarification should he ask, Markus resolved to nurture the stubborn and lingering hope that nestled deep within his chest so that he might foster it into becoming something more. 

“Then come this way,” he said and gestured for Simon to follow for a few steps before pointing him in the direction of a door a little further down a corridor off the foyer. “Go to the music room...I shall direct the others there shortly,” he explained. “There is a decanter...help yourself to a drink,” Markus offered in parting and Simon nodded hesitantly but did as he was bid and escorted himself into the other room as instructed.

Disaster averted, Markus paused to breathe a sigh of relief before he eventually turned to make his way back to the dining room, where Carl was doing his utmost to entertain the other guests. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stern were chuckling at a joke when Markus re-entered with a pleasant smile on his face. The three men turned to look at him. “Lord Simon regrets his outburst,” he told the officers in the room, despite Simon having said no such thing, and Markus doubted that Simon would rescind his statements. If nothing else, Markus knew Simon to be firm in his beliefs. “He has retired to the music room and awaits us there,” he said by way of explanation as to Simon’s absence. 

Carl nodded. “Wonderful,” he said, drawing his hands together with an eager clap. “It’s past due we moved on to the evening’s entertainment,” he said with a smile and reached for the bell.

“Allow me, Carl,” Markus said, stepping forward as Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stern stood and filed out of the room obediently. Hank had been to their home enough times that he knew the layout well and he could escort Connor there himself. Carl’s hand paused as he reached for the bell. “No sense in bothering Mr. Dana,” Markus said with a small smile. Carl relented with a soft smile and a gentle look of exasperation.

“You know you needn’t bother,” Carl said fondly as he lowered his hand into his lap and waited as Markus crossed the room to his side and took the older man into his arms. “Mr. Dana is quite capable of carrying me,” he said, sliding an arm around Markus’ shoulder to distribute his weight further. 

“I know,” Markus said quietly as he began to leave the room. “But, after everything...all this,” Markus began to explain. “You have done more for me than anyone and forgive me if I feel as if I could never do enough for you,” he said, gratefully. 

“Markus...” Carl said with a smile. “You must never feel as if you owe me something,” he whispered fondly as they neared the music room. “You are not a servant, you are my own and frankly, I would hate for our relationship to feel like a job.”

“I know,” Markus said again, and Markus felt something rise within him, happiness and a fondness and love so clear he could have wept, were it not for the thought of guests in the next room. “You don’t know how much you mean to me,” he finished. Carl did not get a chance to respond as the pair soon found themselves in the music room and stepping into a painfully awkward silence. 

“Well,” Carl said, after a long moment of taking in the atmosphere in the room. “Don’t everybody overexert themselves all at once,” he said with a chuckle. “We still have the rest of the evening to get through.”

Their guests exchanged glances at one another, and Simon was the first to break the silence, perhaps rather uncharacteristically. “Quite right,” he said in agreement. “What did you have in mind?” Simon asked, moving to take a seat in an armchair as Carl was led to and placed on the chaise lounge nearby. Connor and Hank found themselves also taking up two more armchairs. The four men found themselves angled towards the grand piano in the corner of the room and Markus stood beside it. The pianoforte in the livingroom would not have sufficed for the show he was about to give, and most certainly would not have been appropriate for entertaining at a formal dinner like this one. Of course, Markus had only seen a few parties larger and even more stringent with the finer points of etiquette. It was something of a relief if he was honest with himself. 

“Markus has a performance to give,” Carl said. “But first, it comes to mind we never discussed that bouquet.”

“Oh,” Simon startled, having apparently forgotten the flowers entirely. “Oh, yes...”

“Finally on to the mystery of the day, are we…?” Hank asked sardonically with a sigh.

“Had I known you were so eager, I might have pressed the matter sooner,” chuckled Carl, who offered Simon a reassuring smile when he took note of the uncertain look that crossed his face at Hank’s less than eager comment. 

“You said an admirer gave it to you?” Simon asked after another beat of uncertain silence. The confrontation with the police had left Simon feeling on edge, Markus observed. Throughout the evening, Markus had noticed that Simon often seemed to forget himself and begin to fidget from where he sat across from Connor before he caught himself and stopped. It would have been adorable were Markus unaware of the very real threat the police posed to Simon...and, Markus realised now, himself. 

For the first time that evening, Markus couldn’t help but feel the risk that he had unintentionally invited into his home. Of course, Hank was terse but pleasant enough and Connor seemed like a decent enough fellow if slightly unusual, but it was the law by which they abided and upheld that was the danger. Markus endeavoured not to hold it against them, although he wondered at what point such a thing might not be possible. 

“I did, indeed,” Carl said with a nod. “But, for all I am an artist, the language of flowers has always escaped me,” he said with a little laugh, and Connor smiled too. 

Simon gave Carl a small, reserved smile, and stood. “Pardon me,” he said, “if I may go and retrieve the bouquet, it might be easier to show you than try to explain without a visual aid.”

“Of course,” Carl said and gestured obligingly toward the door.

Conor stood from where he sat in an armchair closer to the door and smiled. “Allow me,” he said, looking to Simon for permission. “I realise things got a little heated earlier and for that, I must apologise. This is the least I could do...” Simon seemed momentarily surprised but conceded with a short nod, posture tensing slightly. Without another word, Connor left the room and Simon paced over to the other side of the room where he stood by the door awaiting Connor’s return.

From where he sat, Hank sighed. “You’ll have to forgive him,” he announced to the room, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “He is a good young man, just...his social ineptitude knows no bounds, sometimes.”

“Well, I can’t imagine it will get much better with you as a mentor,” Carl said with a grin, to which Hank let out a huff of laughter and returned the smile and his surly demeanour melted away ever so slightly. 

“I think I quite like him,” Markus said after a moment, and everyone’s attention was on him. “I enjoy his enthusiasm, and for what it is worth...his ideas have merit.”

“Yes, well...” Hank began with a grimace, albeit a somewhat thoughtful one. He no doubt recalled the disturbing conversation from earlier. “The matter of the photograph is a pipe-dream. It’ll never happen,” a pause. “His ridiculous journals suggest there were some photographic techniques being applied in the...16th century, I think it was.”

There was a pause. “So you did read them,” Simon observed, a small, amused smile gracing his features.

“...Don’t tell _ him _ that,” Hank said raising a hand as if to quiet the room. “The only thing more unbearable than his enthusiasm is his smugness,” he explained, which drew a chuckle from everyone in the room. 

“I heard that,” Connor said, suddenly reappearing in the doorway and startling Simon, who had had his back turned to the doorway, enough that he visibly jumped. Hank sighed heavily.

When Simon turned to look he could see Connor watching Hank, triumphant. The look, however, disappeared when he turned his attention to Simon and held the vase out to him. “Thank you,” Simon said after taking a moment to collect himself. As Simon took hold of the vase, one of Connor’s hands moved just enough that it held onto Simon’s own, pressing it against the vase. Markus frowned. 

He could not see Simon’s expression, but he saw the way his shoulders tensed when Connor’s gaze met his, searchingly. “You are quite welcome,” Connor said slowly, with something in his voice that Markus couldn’t place. Simon pulled away and turned, hurrying to the nearest table and placing the vase down and Connor retook his seat. 

Markus watched as Simon seemed to compose himself, and straightened his posture. “It is...quite the bouquet,” he said standing behind the bouquet and making sure it was visible to the other men in the room. “The message is clear, but I must emphasise how...strong a message it is.”

“Go on...” Carl urged gently and Markus found himself eager to hear what it was that Simon had to say, although he was sure he already knew the answer. Markus knew the meaning behind the flowers well enough.

“Allow me to begin with the roses,” Simon began, gesturing to the colourful array of roses on display. “While individual roses hold meanings of their own, to have such varying colours means something else altogether.”

“Well, I know enough to know red roses denote love,” Markus contributed lightly. 

“Yes, of a sort,” Simon agreed. “Although the strength or meaning of that love is also emphasised by the number of roses...but, I shan't go into that now,” he said with a faint, but patient smile. “Here, it is the plethora of colours that holds the meaning and not the number.”

“And that is?” Hank pressed, although he had sat forwards in his chair with his elbows on his knees, in yet another display of poor etiquette. Connor seemed quite focused on Simon, watchful and curious.

Simon continued. “The meaning is quite simple,” he explained. “Each colour of rose holds its own meaning, but when you bring them all together their meaning amalgamates into something else,” Simon elaborated. “Multicoloured roses tell a person: you are everything to me,” although he said nothing, Hank seemed quietly impressed.

“And are those gardenias?” Carl prompted after a moment.

“White carnations, actually,” Simon supplied helpfully. “They have any number of meanings, but amongst them are that of loveliness, pure love, adoration and innocence.”

Carl raised a brow. “You weren’t exaggerating when you said these flowers held strong meanings.”

“I wasn’t,” Simon shook his head. “It honestly had me concerned that a stranger felt so strongly for you...such obsession isn’t always as innocent as these flowers suggest.”

“Obsession?” Markus asked, brow furrowed and frowning slightly. That wasn’t quite what he had hoped Simon would take away from the gift, but he supposed he had known Simon saw something in them he hadn’t liked already. 

“Indeed,” Simon said slowly. “But it hadn’t occurred to me yet that...” he trailed off and glanced around the room, his gaze landing on Markus for just a moment longer than necessary before he returned his attention to the flowers. “Well, you may already know them, so they may not be a stranger to you at all...”

“It’s quite possible,” Carl said with a small grin. “I find myself quite popular amongst the ladies of society, even now,” he said, to which Markus couldn't help but chuckle.

“I wouldn’t laugh, young man,” Carl cautioned carefully with a smile. “You might learn a thing or two,” he said nodding in Markus’ direction, and then turned his attention on Connor. “And the same goes for you.”

“I daresay I shall,” Connor said, attention flicking to Carl for a moment before he returned to watching Simon again. Simon frowned faintly but seemed to disregard Connors intense stare. Carl watched the pair with a look of concern. Perhaps Markus was not the only one to have noticed their odd exchange, and if so, then it was likely that Hank had taken note of it as well. 

“...Allow me then, to continue educating you,” Simon said after a beat of silence. “These small flowers,” he said, gesturing to the small white blooms and pointed petals, “are called the Star of Bethlehem,” the name seemed somewhat ridiculous to Markus, but who was he to judge? He knew next to nothing about flowers, and could very well have insulted Simon had he not sought help. Honestly, he hadn’t thought it possible to lay basil at someone’s feet and call them malodorous, but the shopkeeper’s wife had told him it could be done. “Such flowers denote purity, hope and happiness.”

“Such a sweet flower,” Carl said with a thoughtful smile.

Simon smiled back faintly and nodded a little. “A-and the phlox...” Simon continued, stumbling a little over the words.

“Yes…?” Connor prompted, raising a brow.

“H-harmony,” Simon said quickly. “It means harmony. And...something else I have quite forgotten.”

Markus’ shoulder sumped a little at that. He had been counting on Simon to know. “Well,” he said after taking a small breath. “What a delightful lesson,” Markus said, turning and rounding the grand piano and making his way to the chair, deciding to prepare himself for the evening’s entertainment. 

“Agreed,” Connor said. “How did you come to know all of this?” he could help but ask.

“My mother insisted,” Simon said, his fingers worrying the petal of a red rose gently. “For the purposes of courtship,” he offered with a smile. “My brother Daniel is in possession of such knowledge as well, should you wish to discuss the finer points of the floral tongue with someone else.”

“You have a brother?” Connor asked, surprised.

“I do,” Simon said. “To warn you should you meet him, I will say that he is a person of limited patience...”

“And you have a wealth of it?” Connor asked, seeming sceptical.

“I never said that,” Simon countered firmly, with a frown of his own.

Markus resisted the urge to wince when the conversation took on a confrontational tone. Connor’s amicable demeanour had disappeared since he had returned to the room, and thus far, all his conversation had felt like something of an interrogation. Whatever was going on, Markus couldn’t help but admire Simon’s efforts to remain cool under Connor’s scrutiny, although the faint confusion in Simon’s expression suggested he had no idea what he was being examined for. Markus confessed to himself that he had no idea either.

“Hank,” Carl spoke up after a brief moment taking in the scene. “Would you mind refreshing everyone’s drinks before Markus begins his entertainment for the evening?”

Hank nodded and rose to his feet like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and grumbled as he passed Carl that he “couldn’t take the posturing anymore either, huh...” a comment that both Simon and Connor seemed quite oblivious to, and Markus had to resist the urge to chuckle. Again, the very fact the interaction felt like playing chicken with the noose did not lend much humour to the situation...unless gallows humour counted. But Hank poured the five of them drinks, and Markus couldn’t help but notice that he and Carl had more generous servings. Perhaps they were both quite through with youthful, fiery tempers.

Helpfully, Markus cleared his throat. He did not wish to appear rude, but it seemed that Mr. Stern and Simon required a more adequate excuse with which to distract themselves from one another than a simple bouquet. So, Markus decided, having drawn the room’s full attention to him at last, to provide said excuse that everyone might sit silently for a time. By now, Markus expected it would be a welcome one as well.

Slowly but surely, Simon and Connor returned to their chosen seats and Carl reclined more comfortably on the chaise lounge and Markus smiled at the room, tentatively. “This is a composition of my own devising,” he told them. “I do apologise for any mistakes. I only perfected it this afternoon and have little practice with the finished product.”

“We wouldn’t have known if you had made any grave errors had you not told us, more than likely,” Hank said, although he did not appear irritated by the notion of imperfection. Connor nodded in agreement with a small but polite smile of his own. Markus looked to Simon, but he was apparently thoroughly distracted by the bouquet. When Carl gestured silently for him to continue, Markus did so with a nod.

Markus took a breath to steel his nerves and his fingers began to glide over the [keys](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6j8Nd7t95rM), slowly at first, with gentle cords that seemed like nothing but a whisper, albeit not for so long as to seem melancholic. The tempo increased and the song became more and more sure of itself. It was not something overt or startling, but uplifting - tentative but spirited. It felt like a dream on the cusp of being a reality. As if one might reach out and take the fantasy were it to be offered by a hand and be made solid and true. With every fall there was a rise and a way to fly, to feel, to be seen above the marshes of the world that stood between them, sought to drown them, bury them. Whatever happened, Markus tried to say, he would be there, sincere and sweet, but all he needed was permission. Markus begged, with his song, for Simon to offer him the chance in this, his song of hope. 

As Markus played, he chanced the occasional glance at his small audience, who seemed quite enraptured. Connor seemed surprised but appreciative and Hank looked quietly impressed. Carl rested with a fond and proud smile on his face. When he saw Simon, however, the blond was not looking up him, but rather the flowers. Simon’s expression was guarded, and although Markus was unable to look too closely, there was something behind Simon’s eyes that Markus could not identify, focused as he was on the way his fingers danced across the keys in front of him. 

If he had to put a name to what it was he thought he saw, Markus would call it pain. He was hurting Simon. But, as if sensing Markus’ attention on him, Simon glanced up, and Markus did not miss the question in his eyes. The ‘why’ of it all. This was no doubt an evening of questions for Simon. He had been flighty from the beginning, but as the evening progressed, Simon sought to hide beneath propriety with limited success. Markus wished he had known, or rather even thought about the effect the presence of lawmen might have on Simon’s otherwise serene demeanour. 

Soon, the song drew to an end, and Markus’s fingers slowed to a gentle stop and the room was left emptier for it. It seemed for a moment like the air had withdrawn and left in its wake a palpable silence. 

In the quiet, Simon seemed to remember himself, and moved, sitting forward slightly and brought his hands together, leading the charge in the polite round of clapping that followed the performance. “That was...most beautiful, Markus,” Simon praised softly when the clapping died down. “I did not realise you were so talented when you mentioned you played...”

Markus couldn’t help by smile. He was pleased, more so that Simon enjoyed the song than the acknowledgement of his talents, but he could see Simon struggling to school his features and he nodded, coming to his feet and taking a short, indulgent bow. “Thank you,” Markus said, rounding the piano once again. “I can take requests now should anyone wish it,” he informed the rest of the room, making sure to keep attention on himself, rather than Simon. “I’m afraid I have no other original compositions...”

The entertainment from then on consisted of Markus playing a few more songs before the evening devolved into more conversational pursuits. To his credit, Connor no longer seemed to hound Simon, who remained mostly silent, as he was wont to do, and Carl continued to amuse with his stories. By ten o’clock, Connor stood up and bowed his head to Carl politely. “I apologise,” he began and gestured to Hank, “but I have an important work-related matter to discuss with the Lieutenant,” he explained and Hank raised a brow. “Quite urgently.”

“Urgent?” Hank said and although he stood, he did not appear convinced. “And you’ve been sitting on this all evening?”

“Not all evening, no,” Connor said with a dour frown. “It is a delicate matter, sir...”

Sighing, Hank shook his head and turned to Carl and inclined his head politely. “Thank you for the wonderful evening,” he said. “But I suppose my work never sleeps.”

“Quite alright, Lieutenant,” Carl said with an understanding nod. “Do call again sometime soon,” he said and Hank nodded, but made no immediate plans to return and instead turned to clasp Connor on the shoulder and usher him from the room. From the music room, they could hear Jerry fussing over them as they dressed to take their leave. No-one spoke again until they were sure that the two men had gone.

Simon stood suddenly. “Thank you so much for the invitation,” he said, inclining his head toward Carl. “But I must take my leave.”

“Of course,” Carl said, although he frowned ponderously. “Are you quite alright?”

“Yes,” Simon said, and then frowned. “And no...I...”

“I apologise if my guests made you uncomfortable,” Carl said sitting up more in his chair. “You’re quite safe here, I want you to know that.”

Simon appeared puzzled by the remark but did not press the matter. “I appreciate the thought,” he said slowly. “I know I was not so agreeable this evening, but I did enjoy the company, and should you be amenable to the idea, I would like to take dinner on the town another night?”

“Splendid idea,” Carl said with a nod and Markus couldn’t help but smile softly at the interaction, glad that the two of them seemed to like one another. 

“Let me walk you to the door,” Markus said, the smile resting peacefully on his face. Simon seemed to take in his expression and relax, shoulders slumping ever so slightly and the tension leaving his face a little.

Nodding his consent, Simon turned and allowed himself to be escorted from the room with Markus. Jerry was already waiting there, although he appeared a little lost. “Where is Lord Warren’s coat?” Markus couldn’t help but ask, noticing that Jerry was empty-handed.

“I did not bring one,” Simon said, cutting across the conversation and halting whatever excuse Jerry might have been trying to fumble for. “Nor a hat before you ask,” he informed Markus. “Your man Jerry is a very attentive servant,” he praised slightly. “He is not poorly prepared, merely underutilised.”

Markus couldn’t help but admire the way Simon made excuses for Jerry’s apparent lack of preparedness. Most employers would not stand dilly-dallying when it came to themselves let alone their guests. By being so quick to supply information, Simon saved Jerry a world of trouble, not that he would have found it working for Carl, but other employers were unlikely to be as forgiving.

“Well,” Markus said with a grin. “As long as the fault lies with you.”

“Indeed,” Simon nodded, taking a step toward the door as Jerry opened it and allowed him to pass through it with a bow. “I shall make sure to dress appropriately next time to prevent confusion.”

With a final nod to Markus in farewell, Jerry closed the door, and Simon was gone. Markus sighed after a moment and smiled, reaching for the cufflinks on his sleeve and unclasping them. He slipped one into his pocket and then he froze. 

The paper in his pocket was gone.

Turning, he scoured the room, searching. The table was empty of its contents - no bouquet or letter and when he turned his attention to the floor, Markus recalled that he had dropped it. “Mr. Dana, did you find a piece of paper on the floor in the foyer?” he asked, turning his attention to the other man quickly. 

Startled by the inquiry, Jerry frowned. “No, sir,” he said. “Why?”

Markus felt the ground disappear from beneath him, and to his horror, realised why Mr. Stern had been acting so peculiarly.

“No reason whatsoever...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously though. Apparently, basil was so universally disliked that Victorians used it to insult one another. The smell was awful, so basically to give basil to someone was to tell them "you stink" and go shower or something. 
> 
> Also, the first REAL photographs were developed in the 19th century, but there is evidence of photography or photographic development processes made in the 1500s, stuff you can look at here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_photography if you're interested. 
> 
> And I'm not saying that I DO have an alternative ending to this, but if I DID I'm debating whether or not to post in on this fic after I finish the original ending or post it as part of a series and keep them separate...


	15. Oh, Sweet Frankenstein...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a sleepless night, Markus finds Simon somewhere unusual and their conversation is both enlightening and frustrating in many respects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I would have called The chapter 'Oh, Sweet Adam' (and you'll see why) but 'Oh, Sweet Frankenstein' sounded WAY better, so that's how it's gonna be. I don't think Doctor Frankenstein was a very good guy. If you're gonna create life, don't run from it.

It wasn’t so much the front door as it was the threat behind it that made the door feel like some imposing giant that seemed intent on swallowing him whole. The horror within him seemed to fall out of him and spill forth making the most mundane of things look like some kind of gateway to the Underworld. Disregarding Jerry for the moment, Markus stumbled on his way over to the nearby window, brushing the hanging curtain aside and peering outside and hoped he wouldn’t see the nightmare he expected. 

What he saw did little to reassure him. The walkway from their home was relatively short, but the long stretch of cobblestone roads afforded Markus a full view. Mr. Anderson and Mr. Stern were further down the path than Simon, although both were thankfully headed in opposite directions. Markus did not, however, miss the way that Mr. Anderson gripped Mr. Stern’s arm and yanked him forward as the younger man glanced over his shoulder at Simon’s retreating back, woefully ignorant of the hound on his trail. Markus was quick to step away from the curtain in case Mr. Stern’s gaze found itself turned on the house once more. For now, Markus was satisfied that Mr. Stern would not be able to pursue his suspicions and Simon would be left in peace.

At least for now.

Markus held little hope that Simon would be left unmolested for any longer than necessary. Markus had already seen Mr. Stern’s devotion to the word of law and doubted exceptions would be made simply because they had shared a meal. In fact, Markus would not be surprised if their tremulous introduction had hindered any chance Simon had of slipping free of the encroaching danger. 

Markus took a moment to breathe and collect himself, turning his attention to Jerry, who watched him with mild concern. “Thank you, Jerry,” Markus said, his tone level. He was beginning to wonder how it was that Simon could live his life feeling like he did and swallow his emotions so consistently. Perhaps, Markus lamented, it came with practice. “Would you see to Carl this evening, please?”

Jerry, perhaps sensing something in the air, offered Markus a reassuring smile, hesitant though it may have been before he nodded. “Of course, sir,” he said and obeyed, exiting the foyer to find Carl in the music room. 

Markus might have confided in Carl what had happened if he thought his health could handle it. As much as Carl was blasé about his well-being, he was well aware of his age and the risks that came with it, even if every bone in his body cried that he was younger by half. Markus would not cause Carl undue stress, but he also knew he could hide nothing from Carl, so instead of hiding his feelings, Markus himself chose to hide.

* * *

In the hallway, the grandfather clock tolled and three solid chimes echoed quietly throughout the house, hardly loud enough to disturb anyone who slept. Markus, however, could not. His anxiety for Simon kept him awake despite the way slumber beckoned him. He had changed into his nightclothes and lay beneath the sheets desperately hoping that eventually sleep would take him but to no avail. He might have rushed back the moment he realised that Simon could be in danger, but to do such a thing would be more detrimental than anything else he could have done. Instead, Markus stared at the ceiling, hoping for the best and imagining the worst

It was already Tuesday morning and in a few long, _ long _ hours, he could return to work, and to Simon. It was little comfort to him that he would find out what, if anything, had happened to Simon soon enough; whether it be from a paperboy, his family or the horse’s mouth.

In a fit of restlessness, Markus sighed and threw his sheets off and sprang energetically out of bed and crossed the room to take his dressing gown from the back of the chair he had thrown it over and hastily donned it. He did not even bother to tie the sash that hung uselessly around his waist. Sleep would not come. He had realised it some time ago but stubbornly refused to give up the endeavour. Now, he sought adequate distraction and so Markus turned to his bedside table and snatched up a box of matches, lighting the candle that he had blown out earlier that night. He swept out of the room, candlestick in hand and leaving the warmth of his bedroom behind, with his dressing gown swaying with each step as he moved through the house. He strolled purposefully down the stairs and into the foyer, faltering in his stride only when he noticed that the bouquet had been returned to its original place. 

He examined it with a frown and a critical brow, moving closer, the wood of the floors cold against the skin of his feet and the air chilly now that the fires had burned out for the day. Jerry would set about lighting them all before Carl awoke in the morning. It was only the various fires in the bedrooms that provided any sort of warmth during the night hours. For now, cold fingers reached for the bouquet, slipping between flowers to wrap around the stem of a flower to pluck it from the rest. The phlox was a small cluster of small, delicate blooms that looked more fragile than paper. Carefully, he wrapped his finger under the base of a single bud and carefully removed the smaller stem from the larger and returned the remaining flowers back into the bouquet. The single flower rested, vulnerable, in the palm of his large hand. 

Markus closed his fingers around the flower loosely, acting as a cage to keep it from falling to the ground as he turned and continued on his way through the house. Soon he found himself in the dark and unwelcoming cold on the parlour, usually so warm and inviting in the light of day. The candlelight flickered, and Markus frowned again, sensing something of a breeze. Placing both the flower and the candle on a side table, Markus moved over to the window and found himself surprised to find snow falling thick and fast from the sky above and he wondered if it might settle. He watched the weather for a time, seeing snow nestle into bushes and leaves in the garden and slowly begin to cover the cobblestones outside. It was refreshing to see; it was as if nature were trying to soothe the aches and pains of the day away and wrap the world in a white blanket. In the morning the snow would likely melt, and with it, perhaps the horrors of the previous day as well. 

With the thought of a new day in mind, however, Markus set about making sure all the windows in the parlour were closed correctly, and once he had done that, he turned his attention back to the dimly lit parlour. The flower sat illuminated by a flickering ring of light, half cast in the shadow of the candlestick. Walking across the room, Markus perused the well-loved collection of books on the shelves that lined one of the parlour walls. He rediscovers_ Frankenstein -_ a book published anonymously initially, but it was soon discovered to have been written by a woman by the name of Mary Shelley. It was a book Markus had read many times before and found his sympathy lay with the inherently misunderstood and unfairly persecuted creature called Adam. The first of his kind to be made and the first of his kind to experience prejudice marked by fear despite his intelligence and capacity for compassion and learning. Adam was not a beautiful beast, so he live in fear he must because he is different, and must be hunted for the mistakes he makes out of sorrow and for lack of proper care and teaching. Adam is not blameless, but he is not a monster.

Markus held the book firmly in both hands and was about to turn away when he spotted a second book. The book was smaller than a pocket bible and unloved. Its spine showed almost no sign of frequent use. Markus took it from the shelf and examined the cover. A book of poetry. The author was a popular one, but their reputation is poor and the poems, in his opinion, are trite and vapid and their subjects often crass and inappropriate. Carl might have chastised him for his failure to challenge the popular perspective on the author’s works if Carl himself did not also agree. Sometimes, one had to admit that some art was little more cannon fodder.

He took the book of poetry and his novel to an armchair and sat with both in his lap and he bathed in candlelight and the ghost of warmth. For a time, he flicked through the novel so familiar with the words on the page he hardly registered them at all and left the poetry book in his lap, forgotten. In time, Markus found that he struggled to keep his eyes open and sighed, relieved that he might now be able to rest. So, Markus picked up the book of poetry and opened it to a random page somewhere in the middle, and picked up the flower to place it between the pages. Markus closed the book and pressed the book closed tightly. 

When he returned to his room shortly after, Markus took_ Frankenstein _with him and used its weight to press the flower more effectively than he could on his own. He may perhaps ruin the pages but Markus suspected Carl would neither notice nor care much about one missing book that neither man particularly liked. By the time Markus got into his bed, he could already hear the morning birds beginning to sing and Markus decided it is better not to sleep at all.

* * *

Markus did not stay for breakfast but did stay long enough to greet Carl in the morning and say his farewells. Jerry was surprised to find that Markus had already packed his things and was already making his way out the door before it was even half past the hour of seven in the morning. Markus did not wait for a carriage to be called to the house and instead took his luggage into town where he caught a cab, a course of action he believed more expedient. The journey is slowed by the slew of snow that fell the previous night and settled in the roads and pavements. 

Markus fidgeted with the clasp on his suitcase.

The household was barely stirring when Markus finally arrived back at the Warrens’ manor house. The carriage rolled to a stop at the gates and Markus paid the driver. The gate was thankfully unlocked, and he wondered if someone had been told to unlock it in the morning or if it was a byproduct of Simon’s return home last night.

He walked up the path and let himself in through the front door, making sure to shake the snow off his shoes as best he can. There is no-one in the foyer but it was almost nine in the morning and Markus could hear movement throughout the house and the atmosphere was light. Markus hoped that his instincts were correct and that nothing untoward had happened.

He crossed the room and headed upstairs to his room to deposit his suitcase before announcing himself to Mr. Brinkley and Mrs. Williams and officially return to work. At least while he waited for Simon to wake he could get his bearings to better understand the climate of the household. He exerted no effort in sneaking around but remained unmolested all the same, and when Markus found his way to a familiar wing of the manor, Markus was surprised to see that the door at the end of the corridor was open, and daylight spilt into the hallway. The sight alone would not be unusual, if somewhat rare to see, but it was the sounds coming from beyond that captured Markus’ attention. He could hear chatter, and strangely, hammering. 

He meandered, both cautiously and curiously toward the room, and paused by the door to his room long enough only to entertain the notion of leaving his luggage there for the time being before hearing a muffled sound come from within. He stopped, and the sound came again. Coughing.

Markus shifted the luggage from one hand into another and wrapped his now free hand around the door handle, turning it and opening the door slowly, and near soundlessly. The noise from within was enough to disguise any noise Markus might have made himself.

“Simon?” Markus asked, quite bewildered to see him, sat with his legs thrown over the edge of the bed, sheets unmade and thrown to one side, coughing into a handkerchief he had pressed to his mouth. His fireplace was lit and a small amount of warmth filled the room.

The sound of his name surprised Simon enough that he shot to his feet instinctively with a rattling gasp so violent that it incited another coughing fit, and Simon’s attention, which had been on him for just a moment was gone again as he focused on trying to control his breathing. “M-Marku-” Simon started to say, but Markus shook his head and stepped further into the room and abandoned his luggage at the door in favour of moving across the room and guiding Simon to sit down again. 

Markus lingered nearby as Simon coughed, and he found himself concerned with the quiet wheezing each and every breath drew from Simon. He had never heard it before. Simon seemed paler, although his cheeks were reddened with the effort of his suffering, and Markus could see him shivering from the cold of the room even as he wore his own dressing gown. “Forgive me,” Markus found himself saying. “I hadn’t meant to startle you.”

“No, I apologise,” Simon said, finally able to concentrate on something other than himself. He took a deep, unsteady breath and shook his head. “I hadn’t meant to be here when you returned...” he said, pausing for a moment to cough into the handkerchief in his hand. “Or at all,” he admitted quietly, gesturing vaguely with the handkerchief in hand. “My mother attempted to lock me in my bedroom last night, and so, when I came home, I could not sleep in my own bed.”

There were a number of things Markus needed to address about the proffered explanation. “So you chose my room?” Markus asked, thinking it as good a place as any to begin his line of questioning. 

Simon nodded. “Everyone was asleep when I came home and I was not about to wake my mother for the keys,” he rasped, huddling a little further into his dressing gown. “Yours was the only other room even remotely fit for occupancy, although your supply of coal is woefully inadequate and your room inhospitably frigid,” Simon said, glancing at the fireplace briefly before turning and coughing into the handkerchief again. “I shall have words with Mr. Brinkley and rectify the issue...” he continued after clearing his throat and swallowing dryly. “I know it was terribly rude of me to intrude like this...”

“You needed rest,” Markus said by way of forgiveness, brow furrowed in concern. “I...I am sorry, I did not realise you were so unwell...” he paused. “Is there anything I can do?”

Simon’s eyes flitted towards the door briefly, and Markus was quick to follow his gaze. “Close the door if you please,” Simon asked softly, wheezing, and Markus obeyed. “Do not allow the warmth to escape the room....”

Markus was silent for a time and then he sighed. “I...honestly thought that Mrs. Williams was exaggerating on your mother’s behalf when she urged me to get you out of the rain the day we met,” he admitted. 

Simon’s answering chuckle was wheezy and it morphed into another fit of coughing. When he was finished, he cleared his throat again and nodded. “I paid for that later, sure enough,” Simon said with a rueful smile. 

Frowning, Markus moved over to the fireplace and threw on the last of the logs he had and shovelled a few more coals onto the fire for good measure. “Now, please explain to me why your mother locked you in your room?”

“She was keen not to have a repeat of Sunday night,” Simon wheezed casually, looking somewhat flippant despite himself. “So naturally I disobeyed.”

Markus paused. “So, the noises coming from your room are, I assume, workmen who are…?”

Simon smiled sheepishly. “Fixing a broken window...” 

Another pause. “Before or after dinner last night?”

Simon coughed briefly into his handkerchief and pressed the fabric to his face delicately. “Before,” he said, and Markus couldn’t help the slow smile that spread across his face. 

“You broke a window to come to dinner?” Markus asked, more to simply hear Simon admit it than anything else. 

Simon did not respond immediately and chose instead to stand and peer out of the window beside Markus’ bed. Simon’s skin was pale with the cold and rosy-cheeked due to his cough. The light of the morning was softened by the snow-covered ground and only made Simon seem more delicate and doll-like in his fragility. In his nightclothes, Simon appeared smaller than he was - or perhaps Simon had only ever appeared larger because of the finery of his everyday clothes. That said, Simon had never appeared so wan as he did now. 

“You look tired...” Markus heard because it was not he who voiced the concern that had been on his mind. Simon had beaten him to it. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” was all Markus could say. He had intended to tell Simon of his concerns the moment he found him in the morning but seeing Simon so fatigued and feeble made Markus think otherwise. “You yourself look exhausted, would you rather not sleep more…?”

“I cannot,” Simon said with a dismissive shake of the head and another rattling breath. “The cold exacerbates my chest...if it is too cold of a night I find I struggle to breathe and cannot sleep.”

“Should I call for a physician?” Markus asked prudently. 

“No, no,” Simon shakes his head, and coughed into his handkerchief, continuing only after taking several more breaths to collect himself. “There is little to be done. At best I would be given laudanum and that only helps so much. I simply need to warm up and soon my breathing will return to normal.”

“I see,” he said with a frown and edged closer to Simon. “May I ask...do you know the cause of your troubles?”

Simon turned to him and Markus couldn’t help but marvel at the curve of Simon’s slender neck. “As a boy, I contracted whooping cough,” he explained, worrying the handkerchief in his hand absent-mindedly. “I have found I have never been the same since,” he explained, with another wheezing breath. “Oh but, fear not, I am long past being contagious,” he was quick to reassure, misinterpreting the worry on Markus’ face. 

“No, it isn’t that,” he said, dismissing Simon’s concern quickly. “Such an illness...I am happy you survived it. I have heard that whooping cough can be quite severe...”

Simon’s smile was at once amused, indulgent and endearing. “Well, I did once having a coughing fit so violent that I cracked a rib,” he explained, extending a finger from where it was closed around the handkerchief and tapping it against his rib demonstratively from where his arms were folded loosely across his middle. “Now though, I suppose I am obliged to warn you that I am prone to bouts of pneumonia as well as sleeplessness,” and breathlessness, but Simon did not bother to list the symptom, given that he had demonstrated it quite effectively already.

The prospect of losing Simon to recurring illness had not crossed Markus’ mind before, and he wondered how much of this conversation was for Markus’ benefit if not simply his knowledge. How much of this was a warning to Markus?

Simon had shared with him a great deal - in fact, Markus believed it to be the most Simon had ever said in regard to himself since they had met. Of course, it seemed as if their entire conversation so far would have been things that would come to light eventually. But, Markus would not be dissuaded. “I have something for you,” Markus said quickly, deciding that perhaps a change of subject would do Simon good. So, Markus reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a small pocketbook, and handed it to Simon, who reached out with his free hand and took it while the other hand hovered by his cheek, handkerchief waiting to be used. Simon examined the cover and frowned ponderously.

“Lord Byron...” he said and Markus could hear him struggling to breathe. Simon shuffled back to the bed and took a seat. “Well, I suppose it could be worth reading...” he mumbled perhaps optimistically, a finger running down the corner of the book’s pages and flicking through them rapidly. Then, a look of curiosity crossed his features, and Markus knew that Simon had noticed that there was something stuck between the pages. He dropped the handkerchief in his hand long enough to open the book carefully and scrambled to keep the flower from slipping out of the book. He coaxed it back between the pages, looking bewildered. “The phlox...”

“I know you have forgotten its meaning,” Markus said, and Simon chose not to respond, choosing instead to focus on his breathing. “But I mean it all the same, and I don’t know if you mean to frighten me off with the state of your health, but I will not yield to you in this.”

“Believe me, I-” Simon said, inhaling shakily. “Do not do this for your benefit...”

Markus fixed Simon with a flat look, not missing the sauciness and attitude in the statement. “You know very well what I mean,” Markus reprimanded gently. “We must talk about this.”

“We do not,” Simon said shortly, turning his gaze toward the window and standing in order to shuffle closer to it. The snow had begun to fall anew, so thick and fast that the snow cast faint shadows that mottled Simon’s skin as it fell. 

“Why?” it was the simplest, more forward way Markus could ask for the answers he needed. 

There is a long stretch of silence in which the only sounds are the crackling of the fireplace in the corner of the room and Simon’s laboured breathing. “We hardly know one another,” Simon said at length. “And barely two days ago you discovered me for who I am…” Simon rasped before clearing his throat. “And you-” Simon fell silent suddenly and closed his eyes against the sun and all at once, the shadow of snowfall seemed like unshed tears. 

“I know,” Markus said after another stretch of silence. “I know you think I betrayed you, but-”

Simon inhaled sharply. “Please,” he begged raspily. “I haven’t the strength to speak of this now,” he wheezed, unable to keep from coughing into his handkerchief.

Markus felt two things in that moment. The first was a spike of pity. He had pushed Simon far enough, and given his condition, it had been unwise to raise the subject at all, but neither seemed to be able to stray far from the topic. The second was irritation. The irksome matter of Markus’ perceived deception and Simon’s refusal to address the issue. Of course, Markus knew he had to press Simon a little bit more.

“Then there is one more thing we must talk about...”

Simon, for once, appeared lacking in patience but schooled his tight, long-suffering expression into something resembling tolerance. “Markus, I-”

And then they heard it. A cry from somewhere else within the house.

“_ Get out of my house! _”

Markus felt a chill in his bones that had nothing to do with the weather.

* * *

Can I just thank **Disterra** (Mutantrentboy) for this wonderful little sketch of Victorian!Simon. It's beautiful and I am so humbled to have received it. Thank you so much!

By our own Disterra (Mutantrentboy)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, fun fact. Simon contracted Whooping Cough (pertussis) as a boy and that can cause breathing difficulties and vulnerability to other lung-compromising conditions like pneumonia for example. Basically, since contracting the illness, Simon has developed Asthma and basically, ANY WEATHER can apparently exacerbate the condition. Now, I don't suffer from it, so I'm not sure how extreme or debilitating it can get, so I did my best. And To be fair to me, it wouldn't be a Victorian novel without somebody suffering from some illness or another.
> 
> Considering the planned obsolescence of the PL600 model, it's my view that Cyberlife would have been flooding PERFECTLY GOOD TECH (god damn brick phone Nokia tech level shit - indestructible), with updates that degraded performance all to force customers to buy new androids. So I don't think it's unrealistic for an AU Simon to be suffering from health complications. Simon the PL600 could be suffering from debilitating and mandatory downloads (what I now, at this very moment, have dubbed 'The iPhone Condition'). Sorry, it's a headcanon of mine. CORPORATE GREED REALLY TICKS ME OFF. And if you consider it in terms of androids, Cyberlife is basically murdering people slowly.
> 
> Although, I haven't decided within that headcanon whether the deviancy would put a stop to the updates because it's hard to believe that Cyberlife wouldn't send auto-updates to their products. Like, feels like that would be one of many reasons for stasis, but it totally could. Doubt deviancy would repair any damage done, though...
> 
> Fun, FUN fact: The minimum length a book had to be to be considered a novel is 50k words, so congratulations everyone! If you have read this far, you have basically read a novel, even if it isn't finished yet.


	16. The Art of Affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Simon is confronted with unpleasant accusations, the three of them find themselves in a rare moment of peace and Markus and Daniel talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning: SUPER homophobic chapter, I hope the rest of it evens out that unpleasantness.

It was Simon who jumped into action first, recognising the voice as that of his brother and hurriedly folding his dressing down more securely around himself and tied the sash tightly around his waist. He did not even think to put on his slippers. It was as decent as Simon could make himself whilst he was in any sort of hurry. He was coughing into his handkerchief as he moved past Markus and toward the door. Markus followed him out of the room, allowing the door to swing shut behind him as he and Simon made their way quickly to the stairway. At the top of the landing, Markus could see the foyer clearly, and the group of people within who were quite obviously at odds. From his vantage point, Markus could see Daniel stood by the doorway of a room understood to be Daniel’s study, although he had never been inside. He was accompanied by two distressingly familiar men.

“I won’t stand here and be insulted in my _ own home _,” Daniel seethed and although Markus couldn’t see his face, Markus could already envision the snarl he had aimed at his guests. Connor and Hank struck very familiar figures. Lieutenant Anderson was not in uniform, but his rank allowed for such a thing. Police Constable Stern, however, was fully uniformed and doubtlessly present in a professional capacity.

“Daniel?” Simon wheezed feebly from the top of the stairs, so quietly it was a wonder anyone heard him. He was more breathless than ever having exerted himself significantly in his haste to find the source of the noise. Daniel, however, whipped his head around at the sound and frowned. “What is going on?” Simon asked.

“Our unwelcome guests are throwing _ baseless _ accusations around,” Daniel said, his forehead knitting together in concern. He held out his hand to Simon, who hesitated for a fraction of a second before he was moving down the stairs and meeting his brother at the bottom, his hand finding Daniel’s. Markus followed him at a more sedate pace, grim-faced. Daniel pulled Simon closer and his free hand went to Simon’s back where he placed a comforting hand. His attention then returned to the lawmen, who had fallen silent upon interruption.

“What accusations?” Simon asked softly, bringing his handkerchief to his lips and coughing into it quietly. The sound was strangled as if he were trying to suffocate the sound. Likely Simon was trying to maintain some level of composure. 

“We’re here to ask a few questions of you, lord Simon,” Hank said, putting a hand on Connor’s shoulder when the younger man moved to speak. “Nothing more,” Markus did not miss the way both Connor and Hank seemed to survey both Simon and himself, neither apparently expecting Markus to be present.

From where Markus now stood beside Simon, he could see the confusion in Simon’s face. He did not miss the way Daniel seemed to pull Simon closer to him protectively. “Concerning?”

Connor shrugged off Lieutenant Anderson’s hand a stepped boldly forward, much too close to Simon for anyone’s comfort. Even Hank seemed displeased. “You are being held under suspicion of deviant behaviour.”

Simon gasped, his shock obvious. Of course, the action resulted in a fit of coughing. Daniel pulled him closer and Simon’s face found itself buried in Daniel’s shoulder where he stayed until his fit settled and Simon’s breathing relaxed, although the rasping quality of it was evident. “I-I beg your p-pardon?” Simon asked incredulously. Markus knew Simon’s mortification was true enough, even if it was more for fear than outrage. Markus wondered if Connor might discern the difference. He hoped for Simon’s sake he would not. Neither he nor Daniel had any trouble exhibiting their hostility at the accusation. “W-what sort of deviant am I accused of being…?”

“A homosexual, sir,” Connor said curtly, tilting his head to the side slightly to catch Simon’s gaze and stepping closer. An intimidation tactic if he had ever seen one. 

“An _ absurd _ charge,” Daniel spat. “And I’ll thank you to shove it up your-”

“Daniel,” Simon admonished softly, squeezing Daniel’s hand. “These men are police officers...”

Hank raised a brow. “As I recall, you don’t hold much fondness for police.”

“No,” Simon rasped, and Daniel looked between the two of them, immediately suspicious. “But I will not tolerate rudeness,” he explained. “Even to you.”

“Am I to understand you have met before?” Daniel snapped impatiently.

Simon paused but nodded patiently. “You recall Carl Manfred invited me to dinner last night.”

Daniel inhaled deeply, and he exercised considerable effort quelling his obvious irritation. No doubt Daniel had inferred that Simon had been in Markus’ company last night. “Yes,” he bit out sharply. Markus might have been amused, but Markus had no doubt that Simon had never intended to make the details of his excursion out of the house the previous night known to his brother, or anyone else for that matter. Of course, Simon also knew that there was no point in outright lying when it was the police themselves who were his alibi and witnesses to his behaviour. Daniel’s unpreparedness for the news might work to the detriment of their interview with the police and Markus tried not to wince at the thought. Daniel could deduce now that if Simon was under suspicion that Markus likely was as well; or rather, that the accusation had to have stemmed from somewhere and Daniel likely blamed Markus, even now.

“Well,” Simon continued, shakily. He had made no move to separate himself from Daniel, and Markus wondered if it was as much for comfort as it was to protect Daniel from his own temper. “Lieutenant Anderson and P.C. Stern were among the guests.”

“Speaking of,” P.C. Stern interrupted suddenly. “Mr. Manfred,” he said, directing everyone’s attention to Markus. “I hadn’t expected to see you here,” he said ponderously. “I had thought to find you at your home later today,” over his shoulder, Hank scowled.

“Connor,” Hank snapped, before turning his attention to Markus when he saw Markus’ outraged expression multiply tenfold. “We have no intention of taking this matter to Carl Manfred’s attention,” he reassured, raising a hand to placate Markus who had stepped forward challengingly, fists clenched at his side.

“I should expect not,” Markus said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument or defiance. “If word reaches me that the police are harassing an invalid old man, there will be hell to pay, Lieutenant.” 

Connor did not appear to enjoy having his threats undermined, but he at least had the decency to look momentarily apologetic. Apparently, Carl’s less than stellar health had not occurred to him. To Markus it seemed that Connor was a considerate fellow, but it was well at odds with his dogged nature and apparently predatory drive to uphold the law. If only his attention was directed at the genuinely criminal individuals in the city. “Apologies,” Connor said after a moment. “I only meant that I don’t understand your presence here, Mr. Manfred.”

Markus’ severe expression, while it did not abate, lifted a little. Thinking back, the details of his relationship with Simon had never been explicitly stated. “I work for the Warrens,” Markus explained, and for a moment, floundered as to the exact definition of his role if the police should ask because admitting to being Simon’s handler would not likely lead to an alleviation of Connor’s suspicions. “The Warrens felt the need for some extra security...so here I am.”

“Indeed,” Daniel agreed, monotonously, his expression irate.

“We were acquainted with Carl Manfred some years ago,” Simon rasped out by way of explanation, “It was most fortuitous that Markus came into our employ, and allowed for reintroductions to be made...” he wheezed. “I hope we have satisfied your curiosity, gentlemen...”

Connor frowned but nodded and Markus thought he looked disappointed that he could not find a hole in the story. “Of course, but...I do have one more enquiry.”

Daniel openly scowled. “Absolutely not,” he said firmly, turning his attention to Simon, whose breathing had worsened under the stress of the situation and the lack of rest was doing Simon no favours. “Can’t you see you have distressed my brother long enough?”

Markus stepped forward, holding his arm out and placing himself between the twins and the police officers. “I think it’s time you left,” Markus informed Connor. The two of them made eye contact and held it, staring one another down. This close, Markus had to look down at the other man, who stood several inches shorter, but was, to his credit, unintimidated by Markus’ larger figure. Markus wondered vaguely if Connor’s smaller frame belied some hidden strength. Just because a man was shorter, did not make him weaker. Markus was not yet willing to test the theory. 

“Connor,” Hank intoned sharply, stepping forward to place a hand around Connor’s arm and pull him back. “We got places to be,” he said. Conor resisted and shrugged off the touch. He did, however, step away from Markus, if only far enough to comfortably reach into the pocket of his uniform and retrieve a small folded piece of paper. 

“Just take a look at this,” he said, sidestepping Markus enough to hold the paper out to the twins. Simon took it in his free hand after placing the handkerchief in the pocket of his dressing-gown, lips held firmly shut as he tried and failed to suppress another cough. Daniel’s hands were occupied with comforting his brother. Simon unfolded the paper with one hand, shaking it carefully when it would not cooperate. 

Daniel and Simon regarded the paper and Simon turned the page over once and then again, frowning. “Forgive me,” Simon said, wheezing softly. “What is this…?”

“I was hoping _ you _ could tell _ me _,” Connor said seriously. “This was found on the floor in the foyer, where I know you and Mr. Manfred spent some time together in private on multiple occasions.”

While Simon’s face remained the picture of confusion and alarm, Markus frowned. “Do you mean to say that not only do you lay aspersions against Lord Warren’s character, but mine as well?” he hissed.

“Tell me, do you make a habit of insulting people after being hosted at dinner parties?” Daniel cut in, obviously irked. “These look like worthless scribbles, so take them and get out.”

Markus reached out and took the paper as Simon held the paper out once again. Both Connor and Simon looked briefly puzzled but did not protest. “These are my notes,” Markus explained, after glancing briefly at the paper and recognising his own hand. “Do you recall the original composition I played for you after dinner?”

Connor nodded.

“I have a tendency to write down the feelings I wish to convey, particularly when I am struggling to translate them into sound.”

Connor’s brow furrowed, and he reached out, taking the note from Markus. Markus let him have it without fuss. To protest would raise suspicion against him, and he could not afford to blunder in their interrogation. “Strange notes...who were they for?”

“No-one in particular,” Markus shrugged. “I have been thinking of marriage...and I have no prospective marriage options,” Markus said and it was not a lie. “It is something of a conundrum,” he said ponderously. Markus could not marry Simon. The image of such a union seemed alien even to him, but more to the point, as Simon pointed out earlier, they had known each other for but a week and to desire such a thing after so short an acquaintanceship was absurd, even if the option were available to him.

Shaking his head, Daniel began leading Simon off into the parlour when Simon broke down into a violent fit of coughing and looked over his shoulder at Markus. “ Show our impertinent guests out, if you please, Mr. Manfred.”

“Time to go,” Markus said firmly, blocking Connor’s path when he tried to follow the twins into the other room. “Now,” finished. Hank had already made his way to the door and opened it. Connor looked disappointed but stepped away from Markus when Hank’s gaze turned less than friendly. 

“I know what you are,” Connor said, turning to Markus one last time as he crossed the threshold onto the patio. “I just need to prove it.”

“Well,” Markus said coolly. “As a lawman, the burden of proof falls squarely on your shoulders,” he said, satisfied with the irate look that crossed Connor’s features ever so briefly. “I hope you understand that no-one here will be providing you with the assistance you require for your investigations.”

It was on that note that Markus stepped back and swung the door shut rudely and the note of finality in the sound felt like a victory. A petty victory, but a victory all the same. Markus turned, intent on following Simon and Daniel into the parlour, but he paused mid-step when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to look. 

Lady Warren stood at the top of the stairs with his hand resting elegantly on the bannister. Her expression was an imperious one and she eyed him with barely concealed disdain. She said nothing, but soon turned and walked back toward her rooms, disappearing from sight. He wondered just how much of the interaction with the police she had seen. The sense of unease she had left him with followed him into the parlour. 

Daniel and Simon were already curled up on the chaise lounge which had been moved closer to the fireplace. It was something of a sight to see from the doorway where Markus stood. Daniel lay on his back, arm curled around Simon as he held him close and his hand stroking through Simon’s hair soothingly. Daniel’s other hand was resting on Simon’s arm, which had been thrown over Daniel, bent at the elbow and hand curled into a loose fist. One of Simon’s legs was curled around Daniel’s. Markus had never seen such an intimate display, but some part of him was amused that the closeness might also be to make sure that Simon did not fall off the chair. Simon’s eyes were closed and it was hard to discern whether Simon was asleep from where he stood. His breathing was ragged, but with the warmth, Markus expected it would even out soon enough. Daniel was watching the fire contemplatively, his every action absent-minded and familiar. It was strange to see them like this, especially after the last interaction that Markus had seen. 

It had been unexpected when Simon had taken Daniel’s hand in the foyer, and more so when he had allowed himself to be held so close. Now, it seemed to Markus like this was an easy gesture for them, and the closeness was Simon’s way of conveying his forgiveness, at least, Markus assumed as much. Markus couldn't help but ponder how many times the twins had held one another like this before that the way Simon’s head was tucked into the crook of Daniel’s neck seemed like second nature to them. Markus recalled the church and how they had seemed so beautiful together, and now, in the firelight, their hair seemed reminiscent of flickering halos. Of course, no man could be an angel, not really. 

Markus moved closer quietly, trying not to disturb what he thought was a slumbering Simon. Markus made himself comfortable in an armchair opposite the twins, and from here, Markus could see the faintest of tear tracks running down Simon’s face, although they would likely fade soon enough. 

“I knew you would be trouble,” Daniel said, quietly, apparently intent on not disturbing his brother either, who in the new light, looked more tired than ever. The sleepless night coupled with the anxiety of the morning had tired Simon to the point of exhaustion, and so here he slept, curled innocuously in the arms of his brother. “Did you really think I wouldn’t check to see that you had taken the money?”

Honestly, he wasn’t sure whether he had expected Mr. Brinkley to be a decent liar or not. “I didn’t.”

“I know.”

There was a silence between them that lay like a dead thing nobody wanted to touch. Daniel’s fingers combed through Simon’s hair thoughtlessly. He had not turned to look at Markus once and the fire reflected in his eyes made them appear like stained glass in the spectrum of colour that Markus could see within, crystalline and cold, but not cruel. 

“I suppose I do not need to tell you that exploiting greed is a valid and well-loved business tactic?” He didn’t. Markus had seen it well enough when Carl had sold pieces of his work in the past. Art dealers were savage when it came to making money, and more importantly, taking a sizable percentage for their own commission. It was all about profit. “It is an easy thing, weeding out snakes and liars,” Daniel said softly, tucking Simon’s head under his chin more firmly, wishing to hold him closer. “It is less simple to extract poison from beguiled victims...”

It was no mystery who Daniel meant when he spoke of snakes but Markus said nothing, instead choosing to allow Daniel to speak. This was the calmest and most pensive that Markus had ever seen him, and to interrupt his ruminations would be a great pity. It seemed as if Daniel needed to air his thoughts.

There was a soft sort of guilt on Daniel’s face, although he seemed unrepentant. His regret lay in hurting his brother both physically and emotionally, not for the things he had done that lead to it. Daniel sank a little lower into the chaise lounge and pulled Simon closer. Simon’s breathing had eased slightly with the warmth of the room and Daniel’s body heat. “There are few things in this world I love more than my brother...”

“I know,” Markus said, although his attempt at a smile faltered and he aborted the notion. 

“Is it true then?” Daniel asked, finally turning to look at Markus. “That he has no choice?”

Markus hesitated, looking between Daniel’s subdued but intense stare, and Simon’s sleeping face. “I certainly don’t,” he admitted quietly and Daniel’s expression soured for a moment before he turned his attention back to the fireplace and his hold on Simon tightened protectively. Simon snuggled closer, oblivious. Markus thought it might be too much to confess how much he wished he were Daniel at that moment. 

Daniel hesitated. “So you...care for him?”

“I believe I love him,” Markus professed somberly.

Daniel’s free hand found Simon’s limp one where it rested on his chest and squeezed it gently. It seemed to Markus that Daniel was struggling with the concept that Simon might love a man, and be loved by him in return. 

“Of course,” Markus started haltingly. “I do not know Simon’s mind,” he admitted. “I cannot tell you how he feels for me...”

“He broke a window,” Daniel said, quite unimpressed. 

“He did,” Markus agreed, finally sitting back in his chair. For once, he wasn’t being outright threatened by Daniel and chose to take advantage of the somewhat relaxed atmosphere. He was uncertain what had come over Daniel, except perhaps, compassion for his brother. “But I find it best not to draw conclusions where Simon is concerned.”

Daniel’s laugh was restrained, and surprisingly warm. “Indeed...”

“You look comfortable there,” Markus observed quietly, watching the pair with a gentle smile.

Briefly, and much to Markus’ amusement, Daniel appeared self-conscious, and he adjusted his hold on Simon’s hand awkwardly, before he settled again. “Yes,” he admitted stiffly, and Markus delighted in the faint blush that coloured Daniel’s cheeks. “We were close as boys. Some habits are harder to shake than others,” his explanation stilted. 

“You are beautiful,” Markus breathed, sitting back further and wishing, more than anything, for a sketchbook. He could never do them justice, but he did not know when he would see the brothers like this again.

Daniel stiffened. “I-I beg your pardon?” he asked, alarmed, but his instinct to stand was quashed when Simon’s limp form presented an immediate obstacle. 

“Sorry,” Markus said, raising a hand to placate Daniel, realising that he had said something aloud he had not meant to. “I only meant two of you together, uh-” he faltered a little and sat forward in his chair as Daniel was forced to relax back down into his. “Forgive me, I occasionally take an artistic stand-point when I look at things,” he explained, evenly, and Daniel seemed to begin to calm down. “A potentially unfortunate byproduct of being raised by an artist.”

Daniel hesitated, mulling over the statement in his mind before he soon settled again and adjusted Simon in his arms to return him to a more comfortable position. “Very well,” he said slowly. There was another, longer pause before Daniel spoke again. “Explain your meaning.”

Markus grinned and shuffled forward in his seat with a huff of laughter. Markus could not be accused of knowing Daniel well, but it seemed so typical of him to disguise his curiosity with demands. “I saw it in the church, too,” he revealed, and watched Daniel frown, although it was more out of puzzlement than his usual display of discontent. “You both...radiate such affection and love for each other...” Markus said, and he slumped back in his chair, forgoing manners entirely and brought his knee up to his chest and rested a hand there. Markus turned his attention toward the fireplace, as if he could no longer behold them. “I can hardly stand to look, you are so marvellous together.”

There was a silence that lasted long enough that Markus’ amusement began to dwindle, and he turned back to look at Daniel. Daniel was frowning and watching the fireplace, his brow was furrowed. “Mother used to say things like that all the time,” he admitted when he realised Markus was watching him. “Of course, it was usually in regard to our clothes,” it was then that Markus realised that Daniel wasn’t watching the fireplace, but the family portrait above it, where Simon and Daniel stood, like perfect mirrors of one another. 

It struck Markus that Daniel craved to be seen just as much as Simon did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daniel needs more love, and I wanted to give it to him. He's a sweet boy, really and his whole thing in DBH is heartbreaking. Like, sure he kills some folks, but...he just wants to bake cakes made out of rainbows that everyone could eat and be happy...
> 
> Daniel's perpetual mood, imo: https://thumbs.gfycat.com/BewitchedElectricAntipodesgreenparakeet-size_restricted.gif
> 
> Oh, also, I'm thinking of setting up a discord for us - meaning anyone who wants to just chill and chat about things including but not limited to DBH. Let me know if any of you would be remotely interested and I'll see what I can do!


	17. To Delight in the Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a trying morning and an eye-opening conversation with Daniel, Markus finds himself with a free moment to talk to Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...This chapter was hard. It kept misbehaving.

The two lapsed into silence and basked in the warmth of the parlour, listening to Simon breathe as he rested in Daniel’s arms. They stayed there until Simon’s breathing evened out and the wheezing stopped and then stayed until the workmen in Simon’s room were shown out and then they stayed long after that. Markus could see Daniel relax in the chaise lounge as time went on and his hand stilled in Simon’s hair, resting there idly. His eyes were hooded and unfocused and his cheek was pressed into Simon’s forehead restfully. Markus thought for a moment that Daniel was about to give way to sleep himself, and he sat forward, intent on shaking him out of it. It would be better for the brothers to take to their beds. 

Markus reached out but paused when he noticed something else. Daniel’s eyes had grown wet with unshed tears, enough that one blink and they would fall, and blink he did. It was different to watching Simon weep. Markus saw anger there - perhaps even hatred. Markus had seen disdain before in others, envy and resentment. He could not recall a single instance of pure hate. The cold fire in his eyes was more like ice than ever. He watched Daniel’s expression twist, teeth clench and brow furrow, and his grip on Simon’s hand tighten ever so slightly. 

Concerned, Markus reached out again, his fingers barely brushing Daniel’s shoulder before he was flinching away from the touch, and coming back from whatever abyss he had fallen into. He released Simon’s hand hurriedly and hastily wiped at his face to erase the evidence of his distress away. “What?” Daniel asked; voice clipped and rough with the effort to restrain his emotions. By the time he looked at Markus, the last of his loathing was fading away. It seemed then, that whatever Daniel was feeling was not aimed at Markus, and for that he was thankful.

“Are you alright?” Markus asked, a slightly bewildered frown on his face.

“Yes,” Daniel said shortly, quite unwilling to speak on the matter and Markus watched some flimsy mask fall into place. 

Markus wanted to press the issue, but he suspected applying pressure would not have the desired effect. Daniel wasn’t like Simon. He did not try to make people understand, not the way his brother did. He was less inclined to open discussion than Simon and more prone to hiding behind his anger. Daniel was a businessman, responsible for a company, its employees and lord of his own household and family, and who knows what else. Daniel did not go on the defensive. The business world was an aggressive one and it made sense to Markus that Daniel was predisposed to thinking that the best defence was a good offence. The notion seemed to apply even to his very core. Markus wondered how much of that made allowances for introspection. 

“I will see that Simon’s room is ready for him,” Markus said and stood as Daniel nodded his understanding. Markus dismissed himself from the room and went upstairs to check Simon’s bedroom and give Daniel some time to collect himself.

When he arrived there, Markus found the fireplace blazing away. It was larger than his own and the bucket of coal was filled generously with a small pile of chopped wood beside it. The bed was neatly made and the window was repaired, although Markus could see sawdust speckling the window sill where the workmen had lazily wiped it down. The room seemed warm enough, and Markus, despite the small mess, found the room to his satisfaction, and turned to leave, shutting the door behind him. He made sure to keep the warmth inside. 

When he returned to the parlour, Daniel was already sitting up, having adjusted Simon in his arms so that he could carry him comfortably. Simon was lax in Daniel’s grasp and his head lolled against Daniel’s shoulder. Markus did not need to be told to hold the door open for Daniel when he made his way out of the parlour. Markus followed behind Daniel closely as he took Simon to his room, opening the door for him when they arrived. Daniel slipped through, careful not to bump Simon against the doorframe as he did so. Markus was surprised that Daniel seemed to have little trouble carrying Simon but supposed he had years of experience taking his brother’s weight if what he had seen in the parlour used to be something of a regular occurrence. 

Markus slipped into the room behind Daniel and then hurried to get around them as Daniel shifted his hold on Simon again, quick to pull the sheets back on his bed. Daniel nodded his thanks. “Help me with his dressing gown,” Daniel instructed quietly, and Markus obeyed. He stepped closer as Daniel untied the sash around Simon’s waist when he sat his limp form down on the bed, holding him up carefully with his other arm. Markus slid the gown off his shoulders and slipped it out from beneath him as Daniel lay Simon down and tucked him into bed. Markus folded the dressing gown over the arm of the familiar armchair in the corner of the room.

Daniel glanced between Simon and Markus and then gestured for Markus to leave the room as Daniel himself made to leave. “Come, we will let him-” 

Markus had already turned to leave when Daniel spoke but turned around quickly when Daniel’s words were cut short. Simon had awoken, and Markus could see that he had reached out to grab at Daniel’s wrist and halted Daniel where he stood. “Wait,” Simon said, voice heavy with sleep. 

Daniel nodded and lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, and Simon’s hand found his. “Of course,” Daniel agreed, once he got over his surprise. With Daniel out of the way, Simon blinked and finally took notice of Markus, where he stood near the doorway to his bedroom. 

Unsure what else to do, Markus took half a step back and gave the brothers a slight nod before he stepped out of the room to allow them some privacy. Even with the door closed, Markus should have been able to hear the hum of speech if not the words themselves but he did not, so Markus abandoned the hope that he might glean something of what they spoke of. Markus suspected they were speaking softly quite deliberately.

Markus loitered there for some time, leaving only to shirk off his jacket and place it in his room before returning to Simon’s bedroom. He was uncertain what exactly it was that he was waiting for and knew only that he wanted to see Simon, whether Simon had the strength to see_ him _ was another matter entirely. But it was some time until Markus heard movement on the other side of the door, and it opened to reveal Daniel, who looked at him with some mixture of discomfort and apprehension.

“Simon wishes to see you,” Daniel said, stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him to speak privately. “What it is the two of you do...” he started hesitantly. “I want no more involvement than I have already taken in it,” he explained; and Markus, who had no words, listened. “He is my brother and I will seek to protect him, from the law especially, for I cannot account for the things I do not know.”

Daniel sought to protect Simon and by extension Markus himself by feigning ignorance. The less he knew of it the better it was for them. It was a clever enough plan, although Markus thought the notion rather redundant. Of course, it might not have been if Markus had chosen to be more tactful in his declarations. Markus nodded his understanding all the same, and Daniel hesitated before he too, nodded and was quick to depart, no doubt wanting to leave the two of them in seclusion.

So, without further ado, Markus opened the door to Simon’s room and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. When he looked up, Simon was sitting up and watching him from his bed, hands folded in his lap upon the sheets that pooled at his waist. Simon was smiling at him, and Markus thought he looked serene, still in his bed clothes and hair mussed with sleep. His pallor had much improved since that morning and his colouring was much more cheerful. “You are well again...” Markus said, loathe to break the pleasant quiet between them, but knew that he must, or he would stare for a lifetime. 

“Much improved,” Simon said agreeably. “Although I may yet sleep,” he said, and Markus smiled. Much of Simon’s peace seemingly derived from sleepiness, and Markus thought it charming in its sweetness. 

“Are you always so disarming when you wake?” Markus asked, stepping further into the room when Simon raised a hand to urge him forward, reaching out to him in much the same way Daniel had done to him earlier that day. Markus did not hesitate to take Simon’s hand and sat on the edge of the bed when Simon gestured for him to do so. 

“I could not rightly say,” Simon said with a small shrug and Markus collected Simon’s hand in both of his own, chasing away what remained on the chill in his bones. It was a marvel to see Simon so at ease, especially with him. 

“Well, I am inclined to believe it,” Markus said, one hand releasing its hold on Simon’s own, and raising his other, bringing Simon’s hand to his lips. 

Something more alert came to Simon’s expression, and as Markus’ lips brushed against the flesh of his knuckles, Simon’s pulled away, leaving Markus bereft of his touch. “You do not run from me,” Simon observed softly, his smile slipping.

“No,” Markus breathed, his empty hand curling into a fist before he lowered it again into his lap, and adjusted his seat, turning to face Simon more completely, shuffling forward in the bed, and leg raised onto the mattress as he leaned in closer. “It is you now who runs from me,” he said quietly, although it was hard to keep the frustration from his voice. Simon’s smile slipped further and Markus wished only for its return. “For God’s sake, I am not your enemy,” Markus said, harshly.

Simon turned away from him, eyeing the place where his hand toyed with his duvet. “Nor I yours,” Simon whispered.

“Then hear me,” Markus demanded of Simon, reaching out and taking Simon’s chin in his grasp gently, but was firm enough to turn Simon’s head to face him again, and catch his gaze. “I refused that money.”

“I know,” Simon admitted shakily, pulling away from Markus’ touch.

“Then why?” Markus asked, his frustration giving way to confusion. 

“Daniel says you love me,” Simon began, gaze once again finding Markus’ own. “And I am happy for it,” he confessed, although it did not alleviate Markus’ confusion.

“And this brings you sorrow?” Markus asked, bringing up his hands to cup Simon’s face wishing to add his comfort and urge him to speak. It stung him to think that his profession of love brought Simon dismay, but he was already familiar with the look on Simon’s face and his sadness was undeniable. 

“No,” Simon supplied, closing his eyes and turning his head to one side, leaning into the touch. A hand went up to reach for Markus’ where it rested on Simon’s cheek and he placed it there. Simon’s hand was warm atop Markus’ own. “I am afraid.”

“Of what?”

Simon opened his eyes again and reached up nudging Markus’ hands away from his face. He shifted in his bed. Bringing his knees up before tucking them beneath him and coming to his knees, still tucked beneath the sheets. They were like some barrier between them that Markus wanted to throw away and draw Simon to him. They were closer now, and Simon reached out, pale hands finding Markus’ shoulders. It was a ghost of a touch. “Of you,” Simon said, keenly distressed, and Markus’ eyes widened. Then Simon’s hands trailed up his shoulders and over his neck and to the back of his neck where his fingers brushed against his closely cropped hair. The two found themselves closer, Markus leaning forward to allow the touch. “I am afraid of _ you _...” Simon whispered, and Markus could feel Simon run his fingers over the back of his neck and through his hair in soothing circles, as is to lessen the blow. 

Markus reached up, taking hold of Simon’s wrists firmly but gently. Simon’s ministrations stopped. “You cannot believe I would harm you?” Markus asked, and did not bother to disguise his incredulity. “You?” he questioned again. “I _ love _ you.”

They remained where they sat, their faces inches from one another, and yet they seemed so far apart Markus could hardly stand it, or the way Simon’s face was angled downward, so as to avoid looking at Markus. “_ I know _,” Simon whispered and edged closer still. When he tugged his arm free of Markus’ grasp, it came away easily. Markus did not resist. His hand found Markus’ shoulder again, more firmly this time. “And you confess it to my brother so freely...” he said, and Markus released Simon’s other hand, and that too found Markus’ shoulder.

“I do,” Markus said, close enough now that Markus needed only to lean forwards and their foreheads would touch. They already shared breath. 

“You are bold and unabashed,” Simon continued, and it was he who closed the gap between them, eyes fluttering shut briefly as their foreheads met. It was only then that Markus realised the hands on his shoulders had become arms, and that Simon embraced him.

“I am,” Markus agreed, unable to resist the urge to lean forward, and their noses brushed and he felt Simon’s shaky breath as he exhaled. “Look at me,” Markus begged of him.

Simon obeyed, and Markus found he had a view of a lake of the deepest and sweetest cornflower blue. “You would tell anyone who asked,” Simon continued, weakly. “And those who did not...”

“Would that I could,” Markus admitted and those eyes fluttered closed again. Markus’ hand cupped Simon’s cheek again, and they opened once more. “I would have it printed in every paper in London that I loved you, and sing it from the rooftops if I could carry a tune.”

“You can,” Simon said.

“Should I?” Markus asked, teasingly.

“Absolutely not,” Simon said reproachfully, although he seemed unable to keep the smile from tugging at the corner of his lips, although the motion was short-lived.

“Daniel loves you,” Markus said after a brief lapse in conversation. “That is why I told him,” he explained and then paused for a moment before adding; “And Carl loves me, too,” he confessed with a sheepish smile. “They will never tell.”

Simon blinked and pulled away, arms unwrapping themselves from around Markus’ shoulders and palms coming to rest upon his chest instead. “Carl knows?” he asked, urgently. “You outed yourself?” And then it seemed the other penny dropped. “You outed _ me _?”

“I promise, it will be alright,” Markus said as Simon pulled away from him, robbing Markus of his warmth. “Carl is my father - he pulled my confession from me - _ encouraged _ me to pursue you,” he admitted. “It did not occur to me that-”

Simon sighed and the sound was mournful. “Oh, Markus...” Simon said, leaning forward to rest his head upon Markus’ shoulder, hands slipping to clutch at Markus’ arms and hold himself steady. Markus’ hands found themselves upon Simon’s waist. “How could it be that I was safer with a man who bore nothing but false love for me?” he asked, voice small. 

“Travis?” Markus asked, adjusting his hold on Simon and forcing him to face Markus once more. 

“He would not do what you have done, you silly boy,” Simon admonished and seemed pained at the thought of it. 

Markus frowned. “Boy?” he questioned. “Simon, I wager I am older than you.”

“You are a boy all the same,” Simon said with a frown and once again Markus found his face cupped in Simon’s hands. “I have never met a man so unapologetically naive,” Simon lamented, and Markus’ frown deepened. “Rupert never told a soul.”

“And yet the entire household knows,” Markus countered curtly, and Simon looked surprised. “Oh, come now,” Markus said, and it was his turn to be shocked. “Were you blind to that, too?” he asked, taking Simon’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I..”

“Now, you see,” Markus said with a grin. “You are the silly one,” he told Simon, his expression slipping into something softer, more sincere. “You do not know how you are cherished,” Markus said, soothingly. He leaned forward again until their foreheads met, and was pleased when Simon did not pull away. “To live unloved is no safer than to live _ in _ love,” Markus said, voice gentle but stern in his convictions. “So be _ loved _, my dove.”

For a moment, Simon’s eyelids fluttered, and Markus could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes as Simon floundered for words. “Dove…?” he asked at length, weakly, lip trembling.

“Well, they do mate for life,” Markus whispered. “Do they not?” he asked rhetorically, and Simon’s sob morphed into a pearl of laughter so boyish that Markus’ heart swelled at the achievement of it. Simon leaned in closer, so much so that Markus was almost forced backwards with the weight of Simon upon him, but Markus held firm with his hands on Simon’s waist and soon righted them again. Their noses brushed together and Simon breathed a pleased sigh, eyes watery with mirth and he relaxed into Markus’ hold; wrapping his arms around Markus’ shoulders again. 

Simon’s laughter melted into a pleasant hum, and he shifted in place, leaning back enough to catch Markus’ eye and close enough to share his breath. Markus could not ignore the way Simon’s gaze fell to his lips, and he was thankful that he had never seen a look so desirous in Simon’s eyes before. “You are incorrigible,” Simon whispered tenderly, leaning down a little, and Markus felt a fire in him that he had never known when Simon’s lips ghosted over his own. “I am sorry I called you a lying pig,” he added, contrite. Markus couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I believe the term you used was ‘duplicitous swine’,” Markus said, amused. He sought to close the gap between them only to be forced to chase Simon’s lips as he pulled away. “There is nothing to forgive,” Markus said, floundering for Simon’s touch. 

“Please forgive me?” Simon asked, finally choosing to push his bedding to one side, and eliminating the superfluous barricade between them and shuffling closer again until their thighs brushed together and Simon’s hands found Markus’ own. “I...want to kiss you.”

“Then do so,” Markus grinned and pulled Simon closer. Obligingly, Simon went where he led and soon enough Simon was situated upon Markus’ lap. Markus sat with his legs planted firmly on the floor to keep Simon steady, the weight of him more than he expected but not unpleasant. Simon paused, glancing briefly toward the door before regarding Markus again, taking in the measure of him.

Simon reached up, tentatively trailing his fingers along Markus’ bottom lip. “I cannot if you do not,” Simon explained quietly. Then, he smiled, and Markus thought him coy. “Or is my guilty conscience your guilty pleasure?”

Sighing, Markus wrapped his arms more firmly around Simon until they were almost one body, and Markus felt Simon’s chest against his own. Simon was so close that Markus had to look up at him to maintain eye contact. “I would have you guiltless,” Markus said. “And so if it pleases you, you are forgiven for thinking I had forsaken you.”

“I was ignorant,” Simon said with a frown. “And I was cruel, and for that I am sorry.”

“Well, the next time you call a man a pig,” Markus began with a small grin. “At least name it Connor.”

Simon’s answering laugh was incredulous. “What?”

Markus chuckled. “It is a term the common people of this fine country use to describe the police,” Markus explained, thoroughly enjoying Simon’s expression, which lay somewhere between confusion and delight. “Particularly used when they are dissatisfied with them.”

“Well then I expect the phrase well-used,” Simon said flippantly, and Markus laughed. “How rude...” Simon finished, leaning down once again Markus met him halfway and their noses brushed. 

“Can you blame them?” Markus asked, his amusement morphing into some more wanting, and his grip tightened on Simon’s waist. Simon’s fingers brushed along Markus’ jawline before they settled there, thumb ghosting over Markus’ lips and Markus leaned into the touch, reaching up to hold Simon’s hand in his own and laying a gentle kiss upon the palm of his hand. 

“No,” Simon answered softly, voice quaking with longing; and finally, blessedly, Simon moved to capture Markus’ lips in his own and quivered, eyes fluttering closed. Markus too closed his eyes and wrapped his arms more securely around Simon, basking in the feel of Simon against him, atop him, and the heat of his tongue. Markus had kissed only once before this - a girl he had known - but it had been so chaste that it did not hold a candle to this moment. He was hopelessly led. It had not occurred to him that Simon had done this before, despite the knowledge of his relationship with Travis, and something like envy settled inside him for a moment, but Simon’s attentions stole it away again. It had become hard to think. 

Markus was helpless to the fire growing within him, and he bucked his hips up into Simon’s own, to make his lust known. Simon’s response was to break their kiss and Markus felt his hands clutch at the fabric of Markus’s shirt and let out some stifled moan. A quiet, salacious thing. 

Immediately, Markus buried his face into Simon’s exposed neck and left a trail of hot kisses from jaw to collarbone. And Simon shuddered. “Stop,” he breathed, desperately. “Stop, stop...” he begged. “We can’t...not here,” he said, forcing himself away from Markus’ caress, and placing his hands on Markus’ shoulders to keep him firmly in place. 

They parted breathlessly, and for a moment could do nothing but watch one another. Slowly, Markus forced himself to release Simon, who slid off his lap, back onto the bed and brought his knees up to his chest with his back pressed against the cushions and headboard. Both men were left wanting. 

“‘I’ll go,” Markus said quickly, and Simon nodded, swallowing. His cheeks and lips were flushed red with Markus’ attention and it was satisfying, wanton. Markus cleared his throat, nodded, and left the room hurriedly. When the door closed behind him Markus leaned against it, and sighed loudly, quite overwhelmed and desperately in need.

* * *

I am delighted and blessed to have received more fanart to show you all! It is a small collection that I'll be releasing along with new chapters, so we will see all of them in time!

A beautiful reference to a previous chapter. I'm in love with it!

By our own Disterra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reiterate. This chapter kept misbehaving.
> 
> For those of you interested in knowing. 'Pig' was once a slang term for the police in the Victorian Era (and possibly beyond that, I'm not sure). A lot of people were dissatisfied with the police at the time, for obvious reasons. A lot of modern restrictions were not in place and police were allowed to do things like beat confessions out of prisoners. 
> 
> Incidentally. In the streets, if you were doing something less than legal, and someone spotted a member of the police force, they might say "I smell bacon" to warn of their approach which I think is hilarious.


	18. The Promise of the Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus obeys, disobeys and obeys again and Markus' struggle is real. He also discovers yet more about the family for which he works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter just WOULD NOT. Honestly, I struggled with the first half, but I'm glad I got it out there. It needed to be out there.

For several minutes, Markus stood, simply breathing, and gathering his wits and attempting to discipline his mind and rid himself of his distressingly physical desire. He managed, with limited success, but wagered it might ease were he to distance himself further from Simon. Simon, so beddable and wanting in the room behind him. If it were not for the fact to do so would likely damn them both, Markus would have turned around and taken Simon into his arms and ravished him. Inwardly Markus cursed himself for being so enamoured with the sounds he had elicited from Simon that he might entertain the thought of throwing caution to the wind. The mere thought that such a delicate, reserved gentleman could display such lewdness made Markus weak. 

Markus pushed away from the door with a heavy sigh and made his way to his room. His bed, too, was in a state of disarray, the sheets were a mess, and Simon’s clothing sat folded on the dresser by the door. The sight gave him pause. He had not noticed it earlier, preoccupied as he was with Simon’s health and the interruption by the police. Then, it occurred to him that Simon had been wearing nightclothes, and given that his room had been locked, Markus had to wonder where they had come from. Following his intuition, Markus turned and opened the third drawer from the top, and despite himself was surprised to find an empty space where once a spare set of nightclothes once was. 

Closing his eyes and bracing his hands on the dresser, Markus inhaled deeply through his nose to calm his excitement. Simon slept in his bed and wore his clothes and he did not have it in him to be indignant of the fact. Simon and Markus, although different in stature, were similar enough in size that it had gone unnoticed until now that Simon had not been wearing his own clothes. Markus found he rather enjoyed the thought. 

After a moment, Markus nudged the drawer closed with a foot and turned to his bed, intent on making it, more for something to do than anything else. It was a privilege granted to him that Mrs. Williams had one of the maids make his bed also given that he was not situated in the servant’s quarters. So, lifting the duvet, Markus halted. A familiar pocket-sized book lay on the mattress, half-obscured by a pillow. The collection of works by Lord Byron was not precious for its poetry, though it was meaningful. Markus let out a soft hum of amusement before he turned and once again made his way back to Simon’s bedroom, tucking the book into his trouser pocket as he went.

Markus barely stopped to knock, doing so only to forgo waiting for permission to enter, and instead making his way inside. Simon stood from where he sat on the edge of the bed, quite surprised to see Markus in his bedroom again and doubly so to find him thus without admittance. “Markus-” Simon started.

Markus quickly closed the door behind him and made his way hastily across the room. A little startled by Markus’ single-minded approach, Simon moved away from the bed and barely found his way past the bedside table before he found his back pressed into the wall with Markus’ hands on his waist and a pair of lips on his own. All of Simon’s protests were swallowed into a firm, but chaste kiss. “I apologise,” Markus said softly, although he couldn’t help his roving hands as they toyed with the fabric of his own shirt, donned by another. “I have come to bargain.”

“...I beg your pardon?” Simon asked, smiling witlessly, somewhere between bliss and incredulity, his hands finding Markus’ shoulders with ease and resting there placidly. 

Markus released his hold on Simon long enough with one hand to retrieve the little book in his trouser pocket and hold it before Simon. “My shirt for your flower,” he said, only then realising the double-entendre in his words after the fact.

Simon’s dopey smile faded as he gave way to embarrassment and Simon’s cheeks flared, and whether or not that had anything to do with the mistake in his words, Markus could not tell. “I- do forgive me, I behaved abominably enough by sleeping in your room, I-”

Apparently, the slip was lost on Simon. “Hush,” Markus said soothingly, only to lean to the side and place the book on the bedside table before turning his full attention back to Simon. Markus’ thumbs slide beneath the hem of Simon’s shirt to feel the skin beneath. “All you do is forgiven,” he said and he felt Simon shudder a little beneath his touch as he whispered hotly into Simon’s ear. “But you must know how that riles me,” he said, reaching boldly around Simon grasp at his backside and give it a firm squeeze, eliciting a sharp gasp from the other man and forcing him to move away from the touch where their crotches met. Simon whimpered, surprised. “As does the thought of you in my bed.”

“Well, I-” Simon started, unable to keep from glancing down. “Oh, I- _ oh _ ,” he said, eyes widening a little at the sight before him, and he cleared his throat, cheeks flushing again. “Heavens- _ yes _ , you have made that _ abundantly _ clear,” he said, breathlessly, swallowing. Markus couldn’t help but grin. Unable to help himself, Markus moved in peppering the skin of Simon’s neck with kisses, and Simon squirmed, biting his lip. “M-Markus...”

“Forgive me,” Markus said, wrapping his arms around Simon’s waist and pulling him ever closer. “I have watched you so long I can do nought but touch you now,” he whispered against Simon’s neck and Markus felt him shudder again.

Simon sighed, and it sounded desirous and equally frustrated. “No, now you must not,” Simon breathed, pushing his hands against Markus’ chest to hold him at bay. “Release me, please, or I shall make you.”

“How is it you shall make me?” Markus asked, leaning forward and trapping Simon’s lips in a hungry kiss. Simon was pliant in his arms, his hands trailing down Markus’ chest as he moaned softly into the kiss, and for one short minute, Markus thought he knew heaven; content as he was with his love in his arms and offering him modest worship. 

The moment, however, was short-lived. 

Simon gripped him through his trousers suddenly, and Markus jerked back in surprise, with a short, desirous groan. “Like so,” Simon said, smiling impishly before releasing Markus just long enough to duck under Markus’ arm and slip away from him and out of the confines of his embrace. 

Unfortunately for Simon, he did not make it two steps before Markus was after him with a disbelieving chuckle, and he was caught again almost immediately. Markus swept Simon up into his arms, one bringing Simon up by the knees whilst the other supported his back, and Simon clung to him reflexively with a muffled protest, even now unwilling to be too loud. Shortly thereafter, Markus tossed Simon back onto the bed and was soon atop him, between his legs and his hands supporting his weight either side of Simon’s head. The springs of the mattress protested loudly, and Simon looked owlish even as his shoulder shook with silent laughter. “You are a minx, I think,” Markus breathed, somewhat breathless with the sudden burst of activity. “To perform such underhanded trickery.”

Simon appeared sheepish. “Come now,” Simon said softly, his hands coming up to rest on Markus’ shoulders, and his arms pressed tightly against Markus’ chest as he lowered his weight onto him carefully, so as not to crush him. Simon’s feet remained squarely on the mattress, although Markus felt the press of his knees at his waist as if to try to keep him at bay. “I must use guile if I am to resist you,” he whispered, the fingers of one hand trailing a mindless patter on the lapel of Markus’ waistcoat. “We must stop,” Simon finished, sadly.

“I wish to drown in you,” Markus said by way of protest, finally lowering the rest of his body onto Simon. Markus could feel Simon’s own want pressed against his abdomen and Simon whined when Markus’ weight settled there, and his lips found Simon’s neck again. As Markus lavished Simon’s neck with attention, he couldn’t help but draw a boyish giggle from Simon, as Murkus suspected that not having shaved for a few days had left Markus with whiskers enough to draw forth the sound. 

“Stop,” Simon wheezed after a moment, unable to contain his amusement, and Markus felt a weak whack against his chest where Simon’s hand was pressed against his shoulder. “Stop, stop,” he whispered through his chuckles, punctuating each word with a tap barely hard enough to feel. “I will not tolerate _ frolicking _ in this household!”

Markus pulled away only far enough that he might nudge Simon’s nose with his own. “Do you begin to worry, dove, that you sound like your mother?” he asked, amused.

“What a cruel thing to say,” Simon said, a pout on his fine pink lips that Markus couldn’t help but to lean in and kiss again, hoping to soothe. Simon condoned the affection for a short moment before he tilted his head back slightly, only to raise a hand and extend a finger. “Now, you cease this endless affection,” he said firmly. Markus saw the seriousness in his expression and it gave him pause, but the severity of his tone was somewhat undermined by their closeness, the fact that Simon’s stern finger brushed the tip of Markus’ nose and his arms were trapped between them. 

“Wherefore must I stop when every fresh moment with you brings me cause to love you more deeply than before?” Markus whispered tenderly, laying a soft kiss against the tip of Simon’s finger. 

The flush that graced Simon’s face made it difficult for him to remain steely in his countenance and Markus could see Simon struggle to resist a smile, but to his credit, he did so. “If we are discovered,” Simon began, his voice unsteady. “You will be torn from me or worse, and I shall be trapped here always.”

“Well, I have never felt more trapped in my life,” Markus said, and rolled his hips into Simon’s own, and Simon let out a breathless moan, his hands finding Markus’ chest once more. Markus did, however reluctantly, move away when Simon curled beneath him and pushed against his chest to scramble backwards slightly. 

“Markus,” Simon whispered when he was out from under Markus and both men sat back to regard eachother from a safe but painfully short distance. “I...” he halted, shuffled forward a little, reaching for Markus to cup his hand in his hands. “You must go.”

Markus knew of course that Simon was right, and he had performed poorly to have returned so soon to Simon’s room, and worse still to have willfully and selfishly defied him. Simon knew better than him what must be done, but it seemed even now Simon was patient with him and forgiving too. “I must,” Markus said, deflated. “Just once more?” he asked, and Simon seemed to soften at his sincerity, and he felt Simon stroke his cheek with the back of his hand before he nodded. 

Markus kissed him, much as he had done upon entering the room, steadfast in his ardour and gentle in his touch. Simon eased into the caress of Markus’ lips against his own and Markus pulled away slowly, as if loathe to part from him. “There,” Simon said peacefully, smiling softly. “Now go,” he said and gestured to the door and Markus did not miss the somewhat forlorn look in his eyes despite his smile. 

Signing, Markus got to his feet and adjusted his clothing as Simon also set about getting to his feet, following Markus to the door. Markus paused when he reached the door his hand poised on the door handle. “Simon-” he started, although he stopped abruptly when he felt a hand on his back, pressed firmly between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t turn around,” Simon spoke hastily, and Markus aborted the motion. He felt Simon move closer and felt the ghost of him standing at his back and his breath on Markus’ shoulder. “If you- if you do...” he began, uncertain. “If you return to this room, or touch me one more time today,” Simon said, slowly beginning to find his words and gaining confidence, although Marus could still sense his trepidation. “Then come this evening, I shall not take you to a place,” Markus remained where he stood, although every fibre of him wanted to look upon Simon. “Wherein,” Simon said, tone certain. “I expect to be thoroughly and mercilessly debauched,” he whispered next to Markus’ ear and he shuddered at his breath on his skin and the words, so unexpected, coming out of his mouth. It was something of a shock to hear them. “So...” Simon continued, and Markus could hear the return of nerves in his voice. Markus could almost imagine Simon’s face burning. “I...if you would spend this time conceiving of all the ways in which you might defile me, sir, I would be..._ most _ appreciative,” he finished, and Markus felt him take a step back.

It was all Markus could do to keep from turning around. Swallowing deeply, Markus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. His trousers had never felt so tight. “_ Christ _ almighty, man,” Markus bit out, voice husky and body tense with desire. It was before he could do anything he might regret that Markus shifted, opened the door and stepped out of Simon’s room quickly without looking back. 

He was quick to close the door behind him and hurry away, intent on finding some distraction for himself. He was more than thankful when that diversion arrived sooner rather than later when he reached the stairway leading down in the foyer. Markus could see Daniel collecting his hat and coat from young Avery as he prepared to leave. Moments later, Mrs. Williams and Miss Alice rounded the corner having emerged from the corridor leading to the servant’s stairs. “Lord Daniel,” Alice called, much to Markus’ surprise, quite confident and perhaps eager in her tone.

Daniel halted, pausing as he put on his hat only to lower it again after a moment upon spotting the pair. “Why, hello Alice,” Daniel said with a kind smile. “Mrs. Williams,” he said, acknowledging her and in return, she offered him a polite smile. 

“It...it is Tuesday,” Alice continued, her voice once again falling into something a little more reserved as she clutched something to her chest. A book, Markus realised. 

Not a second later a look of comprehension crossed Daniel’s features and he sighed. “So it is,” he said. “Forgive me Alice, but I have one errand to run and when it is done I shall come home immediately,” he said, with a smile full of promise. “We will have all evening to ourselves then if you do not mind taking your lesson later than usual?”

“No, Lord Daniel,” Alice said with a gentle smile and a little curtsey.

It was as Alice turned to leave that Daniel spoke again. “Oh, Miss Alice,” Daniel said quickly, and she turned to look at him again. “My cousin Emma comes tomorrow,” he said, smiling when she saw the eager look in Alice’s eyes. “Dress well that you might play with her, yes?”

“Yes, Lord Daniel,” Alice said agreeably, turning on her heels as she clutched her book to her chest tightly, and made her way back down the servant’s corridor once more with a skip in her step. It was not hard to imagine that this Emma might have as much fondness for Alice as she seemed to have of Emma. 

“Have a safe trip, Lord Daniel,” Mrs. Williams said with a fond smile on her face. No doubt she was pleased that such a timid creature as Alice could be made so happy in so short a moment.

Daniel placed his hat upon his head and straightened the brim before nodding. “Of course,” he said with a smile. “I shall see you and Miss Alice later,” he said and turned to open the front door. “Farewell,” and it was with that that Avery stepped through the door with Daniel to close the door behind him. Markus saw a glimpse of the waiting carriage beyond. 

Both Mrs. Williams and Markus lingered in their respective silences for a moment, before Markus decided it was time to move, and began making his way slowly down the stairs toward Mrs. Williams. Thankfully, the innocent exchange he had witnessed calmed Markus enough that he need not disquiet Mrs. Williams with anything unseemly. “Where does he go?” Markus asked, seeing Mrs. Williams jump a little and turn to face him in surprise with a hand upon her chest to soothe herself.

“Bellini’s art studio,” she informed him diligently when she collected herself. “He goes to retrieve a portrait he commissioned in September.”

Markus frowned, finally reaching the ground floor and coming to stand beside Mrs. Williams so that they might converse properly. “I thought Lady Warren did not wish to have another portrait done.”

“This is not a Warren family portrait,” Mrs. Williams said, and her smile softened further. “Although it does pertain to family.”

Markus raised a brow. “That is quite possibly the most cryptic thing you have ever said to me, Mrs. Williams,” he commented, to which Mrs. Williams laughed softly. 

“I suppose it does no harm for you to know it,” Mrs. Williams said perhaps a little conspiratorially. “It is a portrait most insisted upon by young Miss Emma of herself and her cousin Daniel,” she said, seeming tickled by the notion. “They sat for it on her birthday.”

“It is no small expense, a Bellini painting,” Markus pondered aloud and Mrs. Williams nodded. Markus was, of course, familiar with his work, as was anyone remotely interested in the art world. He sold his own works but often took commissions from the upper echelons of society for a more regular and reputable income.

“You are quite right,” Mrs Williams said, collapsing her hands together in front of her. “I confess I glimpsed the invoice in Lord Warren’s office one day when bringing him tea.”

“You say that as if it is the worst thing you have ever done,” Markus said watching her guilty smile turn slightly sheepish.

“I am sure I have done worse,” Mrs. Williams said, and the pair of them chuckled.

Then, Markus paused. “Mrs Williams,” he began. “Time allowing, will you take a turn with me in the garden?” he asked. 

Mrs. Williams, although caught off-guard by the request, judging by the surprise in her eyes and the uncertainty that settled in her features, nodded. “I have a few minutes to spare,” she said, and Markus nodded, leading the pair of them out into the garden. When they reached the doors, a chill as the cold air hit him anew as he opened them to step outside. On his way through the conservatory doors, he picked up an umbrella, opening it and allowing Mrs Williams to step beneath, to protect her from the still falling snow. 

For a time they walked in companionable silence, but Markus knew Mrs. Williams had constraints on her time and as such he could not wait all day to speak. “I expect everyone is already aware of the commotion with the police this morning?”

“Oh, indeed,” Kara nodded. “And quite aflutter with it, too.”

Markus nodded slowly, thoughtful. It was to be expected that the household, so protective of their charge might be in an uproar over the visitation however subdued that agitation was. “It is fortunate they did not simply remove Lord Simon from the premises,” knowing of course, they had the right to do so.

“They may have done,” Kara said with a frown. “Although I expect they did not do so because they had not the proof they need to confine Lord Simon indefinitely,” she continued, to which Markus nodded in agreement. “Lord Daniel’s lawyers would have him extracted swiftly from police care.”

Once again the pair of them lapsed into silence, and Mrs. Williams extended her petit hand beyond the confines of the umbrella, amusing herself with catching snowflakes in the palm of her hand to watch them melt. “Pardon me, Mrs. Williams,” Markus spoke up at last as they walked, turning a corner of the garden. “I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I could not help but take note of Miss Alice’s conversation with Lord Warren,” he said, watching Kara curiously. 

Mrs. Williams hummed softly to herself before continuing, a gentle smile on her face. “Lord Warren teaches her to read,” she explained, and Markus found himself surprised by the notion. “He does not attend to his work on Tuesdays,” Kara elaborated when she saw his expression. “And so has time for such things.”

“He teaches her himself?” Markus asked, some part of him unable to comprehend such information. “Surely there are other demands on his time,” and far be it for Markus to judge, but he wondered at why Alice’s betterment concerned Daniel at all. Markus could not begin to guess at why Daniel would tutor her himself when he could hire a governess to do so for him, but she was not his daughter nor his ward, so perhaps he thought there was little call for it. 

Mrs. Williams' smile turned fond. “I believe Lord Warren is quite taken with her,” she said and Markus couldn’t help but smile back at her gently. Markus could easily see why that might be the case. Alice was a sweet and gentle girl. “She enjoys her lessons with him,” Mrs. Williams said after a brief pause. “And if both are happy with their arrangement I have no cause for complaint.”

Markus could not argue against the point and so they walked on in silence until they were once again at the doorway of the conservatory. Mrs. Williams straightened her skirts after shaking the snow from her boots, and her fingers were pink with the touch of winter on her skin. Markus shook out the umbrella before returning it to its stand and stepping inside himself after kicking the snow off his shoes. “Mrs. Williams?” He asked as she moved further inside. 

“Yes?” she asked, turning to face Markus again as he closed the conservatory door behind him. 

“You will help me to protect him,” Markus asked, and watched as her head tilted to the side, reading the earnestness in his expression and the sincerity in his voice. “Won’t you?” he wondered if he looked like a child to her, at that moment, lost and helpless. 

“This family means a great deal to me, Markus,” she said, all at once dropping the formality between them and answering him without pretence. “I will do anything to protect them,” she said. “Lord Daniel and Lord Simon especially.”

Kara was a reserved woman by nature, but Markus could see the strength in her posture and hear the certainty in her voice and he found that he believed her. “Thank you, Kara,” he told her with a small, but grateful smile. She offered an understanding smile in return and nodded to him before they parted ways and left Markus alone with his thoughts in the dimly-lit conservatory.

* * *

And here is another marvellous instalment of Disterra's wonderful art. As always, I'm so grateful to have received it:  
  
  


By our own Disterra

Thank you, always!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this chapter took far longer than I would have liked, but in my defence, I have been working on something ELSE I need to get out of my system. A Simkus one-shot that is...really...really different. It sure is going to be something...whenever I manage to get it all out onto the page as it were.


	19. It Begins with Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus and Simon share a moment before they begin to share a whole lot of something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter took AGES. It wouldn't co-operate and it took some wrangling, but here it is and I hope you enjoy it!

It was not long after Daniel left on his errand that Lady Warren followed, leaving word with Mrs. Williams that she was dining out for the evening and not to bother setting her a place at dinner. When she was gone, Markus settled quietly in the parlour with his sketchbook and idly scribbled some vague form. He had tried to make himself useful, heading to the servants quarter to see what he might do to help. He found himself ushered away. The household worked like a well-oiled machine and Markis, in part, felt like a stray cog that had yet to find its place. It had been just over a week and Markus had very little to do with the actual running of the household, and so was quickly told that everything was in hand and he was sent away. Markus somewhat disliked idleness, especially when without company. It was only when the weight of the world seemed to settle within that he enjoyed his solitude. It was only a shame that Markus could not have felt more like he was walking on air if he tried; a shame because he knew there was much to be wary of and he could not set his mind to them.

The sketch had begun to look something like a face which was nothing short of a disappointment. It did not reflect even the slightest amount of what it was he tried to capture. Sadness turned to a tentative kind of joy and a guileless smile. Markus could not touch upon it. Markus was by no means a poor artist, but he did nought but sketch and without colour, Markus knew he would never do Simon justice. He was all colour. Simon was brighter than he knew and more vibrant than he allowed himself to be. Markus could see it, just beneath the surface of him and in those oh-so-expressive eyes. A mere pencil sketch would not be enough. Markus thought that a charcoal drawing might begin to capture something of him. That said, there was a certain elegance that a less vivid medium could, and would, lend to Simon’s fine features. Still, Markus struggled even to begin to capture the look of his love.

So, in frustration, Markus closed his book and tucked it under his arm and put his pencil in his pocket as he stood. For all the time he had spent in the Warren homestead, he did not know much of its layout and so elected to explore. Exiting the parlour, Markus moved into the foyer and down a corridor, he had never been through before, peeking into rooms he had never seen before, although he left Daniel’s study well enough alone. He found another parlour, suited for extra guests. This one looked more like a parlour the men might retire to after larger gatherings, seeing decanters full of spirits and a box of cigars on display with wide windows and darker furniture and flooring. The second room he found was the dining room, with a table large enough to seat twelve comfortably. The table was dark wood with a white table cloth folded on top. The walls were lined with several pieces of refined art, and some exotic plates from the orient.

The third room he found was the music room, with dark wood dining chairs - again enough for twelves set up in front of the grand piano at the end of the room on a small dais. Beside it was a few violins. There was a cabinet towards the front of the room where, presumably, other smaller instruments were kept. Also about the room was more comfortable chairs and a table in the corner of the room with refreshments and a number of half-full decanters and small glasses set upside down on a tray.

Unable to resist, Markus stepped into the room, partially closing the door behind him, and made his way towards the piano, walking through the centre aisle between the chairs. The piano was an elegant dark wood, which Markus could not help but run the tips of his fingers along as he rounded the front of it to take a seat. Tentatively, he brought his fingers to the keys and played a few experimental notes. The piano was well-tuned. Without much thought beyond that, Markus brought both hands to the keys and began to play. It was the same tune he had played the night before and although he slipped up once or twice before he found his rhythm, he soon recalled what it was exactly he had played. The tune was so new to him he could hardly expect to get it right on the second performance without the sheet music, but the thought of Simon carried him through.

He soon found himself absorbed, and the world melted away, much as it had done when he had composed the piece. When he was younger, and still learning, he found that guests could often startle him when he was playing a piece when he found them standing at his side. He never noticed their approach. Carl’s voice often broke him out of his musings so suddenly that he would jump in his seat.

It was no different this time.

A quiet round of applause sounded from the doorway and Markus’ heart jumped into his throat, and his fingers stumbled clumsily across the keys as he glanced up, surprised to see Simon standing there, half leaning against the doorway, a faint smile on his face. It was beautiful. “Simon,” he said after he had recovered himself sufficiently enough to speak, lifting his hands away from the keys as if he could take back what he had done. “Forgive me, I couldn’t resist.”

Stepping into the room, Simon shook his head and took a seat in a nearby armchair near the back of the room and the furthest Simon could possibly be from him. “Not at all,” Simon said, and Markus realised he was holding the book of poetry Markus had given him in his lap. “Will you play again?”

Markus could only smile and nod, and found, as he began to play again, that he needn’t say anything in response. Slowly, his fingers danced across the piano keys, more prepared now than before and happier still, to have such an intimate audience. Markus glanced up from time to time, unable to keep his eyes from straying too long from his dove. He didn’t know exactly how much time had passed, but Simon looked refreshed, clad in brown trousers and dark leather shoes with a cream waistcoat coupled with a white shirt and a pale blue ascot. He looked like Spring had come early with his head tilted to the side into the wing of the armchair by his head and a contented smile on his face, subtle and sweet. Markus saw the far-away look on his face and continued to play, rather than stop the tune when it came to an end, unwilling to break Simon away from his thoughts. Simon was listening, seeing something that wasn’t in front of him and Markus didn’t want to take it from him.

So, Markus played twice, and thrice and watched Simon, finding pleasure in providing Simon with a measure of peace. It was a peace all their own. His playing only came to an end when he saw something in Simon’s eyes he did not like. The sight of unshed tears. “Simon?”

Of course, the interrupted playing brought Simon out of his reverie and he reached up to wipe his tears away before they fell and blinked to clear his vision. “I’m so sorry,” Simon said, quick to give Markus a reassuring smile, meek though it may have been. “I was quite taken in for a moment there...” he said with a little roll of his eyes. “I was away with the fairies.”

“Well,” Markus began, coming to his feet slowly, his feet still twisted in concern. “I hope they took you somewhere nice,” he said slowly making his way over to Simon.

“Yes,” Simon said, his smile sincere if a little sad. “The kindest of places...”

Markus was puzzled but could do nothing but stand in front of Simon at a safe distance away, knowing that if he got any closer he would be unable to keep from sweeping Simon up into his arms. Simon had, after all, made Markus promise not to touch him. Markus glanced towards the door cautiously before he spoke again. “Then why do you cry, dove...?”

There was a brief pause in which Markus watched Simon glance away shyly, his cheeks flushing faintly. “Because your song paints the happiest of pictures...” Simon admitted, his smile fading. “And I am not sure that I appreciate having such pretty things dangled in front of me like some dream that slips away from me when I am forced to wake.”

“Simon...”

Simon shook his head, halting Markus in his speech. “No, forgive me,” he said, clearing his throat and coming to his feet. “I quite forgot I had a purpose in coming to find you,” he said but did not wait for Markus to respond before he continued. “Mother and Daniel are away,” he said. “It’s time we left too,” he said, gesturing for Markus to follow as he turned and left the room.

Despite himself, Markus couldn’t help the rush of enthusiasm at the words. Simon, ever insightful, saw the look in Markus’ eyes and smiled gently as they walked together into the foyer. They gathered their coats and Markus made sure to grab a scarf, which he wrapped around Simon’s neck securely, despite his protests. Simon looked exasperated but said nothing. They left together. With the carriage gone they were forced to walk further into a busier area of the city, much like Simon had done the night Markus had followed him out of the house to the home in which he had found Simon in the company of friends.

When they were in the carriage however, it did not take long for Markus to figure out that that was exactly where they were going. They spoke very little over the course of the journey. It was cold enough that Simon spent most of his journey trying to huddle further into his scarf. But, forbidden as he was from helping, Markus could only watch from his seat across from the blond. It was despicably adorable and it only made Markus want to take Simon into his arms even more. That said, Markus kept an ear out for any concerning noises that came from Simon, mindful of his breathing.

When the carriage at last rolled to a stop in front of the house, they both climbed out of the carriage. Markus watched Simon pay the driver and then walked with him to the door, where he knocked. It was barely a minute before the door was answered and Josh stood to meet them. The smile he gave readily to Simon slipped somewhat at the sight of Markus. “Simon,” he said by way of greeting but stepped aside to let both men into the house. “What a surprise,” he said, closing the door. “And more so now you bring company...” he said, and Markus didn’t miss the caution in his tone, nor the curiosity.

“I know,” Simon said with a patient smile, already removing his coat and scarf. Markus endeavoured to do the same. Markus couldn’t help the concern that grew within. Surely this was not the place that Simon had talked about earlier that day when he had teased him so about finding somewhere they could be more affectionate with one another. “Where is North?” Simon asked.

“Through here,” they heard from the living room. From her tone, Markus thought she sounded quite irate. Josh could only smile at them before the three of them made their way in to greet her. They found North battling with the stitches on a cushion in her lap.

“Are you alright?” Simon asked with a raised eyebrow.

She sighed, obviously frustrated, and stabbed the cushion violently with the needle before she gave up and left it there, turning her attention up to Simon. “I hate sewing,” she said, sending Josh a resentful look. “I didn’t think there could be anything worse than embroidery.”

“Did you lose another bet to Josh?” Simon asked, and Markus couldn’t help but enjoy the mildly entertained look on Simon’s face.

“We played a few rounds of Old Maid,” Josh said with a grin and North rolled her eyes as he settled down into the settee beside her. “The bet was that if I won, North would have to fix the cushion.”

North pulled another face and Markus couldn’t help the small grin on his face, especially at the sound of Simon’s chuckle. “Embroidery is a very ladylike pastime and I’m glad you have taken it up, North. I realise I never said so on our last visit,” he said. “Repairing cushions is simply a consequence of living.”

North sighed. “Easy for you to say,” she frowned grumpily. “You have likely never had to fix anything in your life,” she said. Then, of course, she finally turned her attention to the anomaly standing in their living room. “What is he doing here?” she said, gesturing to Markus.

“Ah, yes...” Simon began and gestured for Markus to sit in a nearby armchair. Markus did so, as Simon took a seat in his own. “I expect you have already made your introductions?” when three of them nodded in confirmation, Simon continued, a little deflated, as if he had been hoping for the contrary. Perhaps Simon was struggling to find a place to begin. “Yes, well...” Simon said, seemingly uncertain how to begin. “Markus is- well, we...”

North tilted her head in exasperation and frank incredulity and shook her head. “Simon,” she said sharply. “Do you mean to tell us that the two of you are an item?”

Markus frowned. “I’m sorry-”

“Yes,” She said, her hands balling into his fists in her hand. “Yes, you should be,” she snapped at Markus and he shut his mouth. “The last time Simon was here, you had him reduced to tears!”

“North,” Simon said, raising a hand to try and stop her. “It was-”

“I will not let your forget it,” North said, continuing on her tirade. She glared at Markus. “I was tolerant enough with you last you were here, sir,” She bit out. “Because I found myself quite confounded with your presence, yet _here you are-_”

“It was a misunderstanding, North,” Simon interrupted hastily. “He didn’t do what I thought he had...” he admitted, and North frowned. “Daniel told me he never took the money,” he said and breathed a sigh, which to Simon’s ears sounded relieved.

Simon’s words seemed to take the wind out of North’s sails and more a moment, she did not know what to say without her righteous anger to fuel her. “Well,” Josh spoke up, breaking the short-lived silence that fell between them. “That’s wonderful news,” he said positively, but then, his attention flicked between Markus and Simon. “But...you’re sure…?”

“Wait,” Markus said suddenly, sitting forward in his chair, eyeing each person in the room carefully. “Both of you are aware of Simon’s-” he faltered. “Our proclivities?”

“Of course we are,” North snapped as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, which, to Markus, it was not. “We’re his friends.”

“Just because you are his friend, that does not necessarily mean you can be trusted,” Markus said shortly, frowning.

“No, you don’t understand,” Simon said. “North is my mistress,” he explained and reached out to place a hand on the arm of Markus’ chair, not quite able to reach him. “She’s quite aware of my preferences.”

Markus was struck not only by confusion at the statement but a spike of offence and jealousy he was quite unaccustomed to. “Mistress?” he asked incredulously, watching Simon with undisguised hurt.

“In name only,” Simon said quickly, eyes widening when he noticed Markus’ distress. “Forgive me, I am used to it being common knowledge within these walls,” he explained. “I should have been more mindful…” he added, apologetically. “It was some years ago now. North and I do not...” he started, hesitating over his choice of words. “We are not _intimate_.”

Markus relaxed a little, but his trepidation did not completely abate. “How did...”

“We met at a brothel,” North said bluntly, although she did not appear entirely comfortable admitting the fact. “Simon explained to me that his brother had brought him there to celebrate something or other, but...”

“But I asked her simply to sit with me in private,” Simon said with a small, sheepish smile. “I couldn’t...a-anyway. We got to talking,” he told Markus who was sitting back in his chair and listening intently. Josh was now perched on the arm of North’s chair. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Simon wanted to convince his brother that he was quite taken with me,” North said with a little grin. “So he might never have to return with him again.”

“D-Daniel and I were much younger then,” Simon piped up quickly as if to jump to defend his brother’s less than virtuous behaviour. “We only went once. Of course,” he said, clearing his throat. “Regardless, as I said, North kindly agreed to pose as my mistress...a ruse which was quite thoroughly debunked with Daniel’s discovery of my...dalliances with Rupert.”

North smiled. She sat forward in her chair and her hand found it’s way into Josh’s. He patted her hand gently. “Simon was quite the gentleman and insisted that Daniel allow him to keep me in my current situation,” she said, gesturing to the fine house. No doubt she was thankful not to have to return to her old line of work.

Markus closed his eyes. He couldn’t help the relieved chuckle that left him then. It was something that seemed so typical of Simon, to protect the people he cared about in such a way. No doubt it pleased everyone that Simon had the ability to care for others as he did. “Then, I am sorry for your previous circumstances, Miss,” he said politely, and finally moved his arm and taking Simon’s outstretched hand into his own. “And glad that you have improved them.”

For North’s part, she seemed impressed that Markus did not jump to insult her good name and nodded to herself. “Yes, well I expect you’ll be wanting to use the bedroom at any rate,” she said, almost business-like in her expectation.

“Yes, please,” Simon said quickly, standing. Markus was jerked forward in his seat at the enthusiasm of the gesture. Of course, Simon’s cheeks flared with embarrassment when he realised his overt display of eagerness, to which Markus couldn’t help but laugh.

Markus stood at a much more sedate pace and pulled Simon from the room with a shake of his head. “Thank you,” he called over his shoulder at Josh and North, who was already picking up her pillow again and returning to her work. He tried to ignore his own flushed cheeks. He hadn’t quite expected to be where he was, with others allowing them into their home in full knowledge of what it was that they intended to do. It made him feel like a bashful schoolboy being told to write on the chalkboard in full view of his peers.

It felt perverse.

“I know it’s embarrassing,” Simon said softly when they reached the top of the stairs, so his voice did not carry. “But they would come to know it eventually, regardless,” Simon said, giving Markus’ hand a gentle squeeze. Markus, although he knew that realistically, they could have discovered them thought that perhaps a quiet session of love-making would go unnoticed. The only thing suspicious might have been the amount of time they spent out of their host’s company.

Simon led them both to a nearby bedroom - the one Markus had found Simon sleeping in not too long ago, the sheets neatly made. “Would you light the fireplace?” Simon asked, gesturing to the far corner of the room, where a small fireplace waited for them, stacked with coal and ready for them. Markus nodded and obeyed as Simon went about the room, lighting some of the oil lamps mounted on the walls. He made sure to keep the lights dim, which leant the room a more romantic atmosphere. It wasn’t long before Markus had the fire lit. He wiped his hands clean of soot on a small rag he found hanging on the handle of the coal bucket beside the fireplace.

When Markus stood, he turned to find Simon watching him from where he stood at the foot of the bed. He seemed uncertain, but Markus could see the want in his eyes. Simon swallowed, and unable to find the words within him, slowly raised his arms out toward Markus, who wasted no time in rushing into Simon’s waiting arms. Markus was quick to return the embrace and quicker still to seek out Simon’s lips and take them into his own, hungrily.

Simon moaned softly into the kiss and was more than happy to receive Markus’ attention. He spoke only when he pulled away long enough to catch his breath. “Forgive me,” he said, his words almost swallowed my Markus’ mouth again when he refused to keep from kissing him, Markus’ lips brushing over Simon’s own as he spoke and his chin and jaw. “I know this...isn’t the most romantic-” he tried to say, but Markus swallowed the rest of his words into another kiss. Simon did not waste time tugging at Markus’ ascot free from his neck before doing the same to his own and Markus made short work of Simon’s waistcoat as well as his own. When Simon was free of it, the blond let it fall to the floor and sat down on the bed behind him, hastily tugging off his shoes.

“Come here,” Simon demanded, apparently quite through with apologising. Markus nodded, but lifted one foot and then the other to throw off his own shoes before he did as Simon asked. He moved forward, ready to take Simon by the shoulders and push him back down onto the bed only to be stopped by Simon’s hands on his waist. He watched Simon unbutton Markus’ trousers with an efficiency he would not have expected of him. Stopping short of finishing the job, however, and looked up to where Markus stood above him, watching his face carefully. “Are you alright?” he asked, one of Simon’s hands slipped beneath Markus’ shirt and came to rest on Markus’ hip to touch the bare skin beneath and Markus felt himself throb with the desire for Simon to move his hand a little further south. “You have not said a word for...”

“I have none,” Markus sighed out. He wasn’t sure how, or where or even when to touch Simon. “You are a marvel to me...” he said. Watching Simon undress him, touch him and even feeling his kiss was something Markus could hardly comprehend. He had never kissed a man before Simon; hardly kissed at all, in fact. The way Simon had been, in all the time Markus had known him, it was hard to believe that such a sweet, gentle man could kiss so well and have such confidence in his touch. It was like he was performing a dance in which Markus was bumbling behind with each new step. It was a dance, Markus realised, that Simon had learnt from someone else and that was the part that Markus struggled with the most. Simon knew more, felt more, touched more and Markus forgot that. Every time. Rupert was some strange alien concept that Markus failed to grasp no matter how many times it occurred to him that Simon had lain with another. “Simon, I...” he began hesitantly. “I don’t know how to please you.”

There was a brief pause in which Simon blinked up at him and Markus watched a look of comprehension crossed his expression, eyes widening slowly with surprise. Simon’s lips tilted downwards, not in disappointment but confusion and Simon looked altogether too astonished. “Really?” he asked, taken aback by the revelation. Markus wasn’t sure if he should be offended. “But you...” Simon, cheeks, which were already flushed with desire, darkened further. “You...are gorgeous,” he said as if that had much to do with anything. “How could you not have had anyone you ever wanted?”

“I don’t know,” Markus said sharply, feeling a spike of irritation, and perhaps wounded pride. “I don’t _want_ just anyone,” he said and watched Simon wince, both at his tone and, Markus suspected, his own lack of tact. “I want...” Markus continued, reaching down to tilt Simon’s shin up to face him again, Simon having turned away in his shame. “I want _you_,” he said and heaved a sigh. “For all I know, I have been _waiting_ for you.”

Simon bit his lip. “Okay, dove,” he said softly. Markus couldn’t help but notice then that it was the first time Simon had ever applied the term to him. “Okay,” he said again, soft and reassuring. “Forgive me, I’ll show you,” he said and come to his feet slowly, hands trailing a little further up Markus’ shirt as he did so, and Markus ached at his feather-light touch. “I’ll show you,” Simon whispered into his ear, trailing kisses along Markus’ jaw until they found his chin and his lips. The kiss wasn’t hungry as the others had been but sweet and coaxing. “I have you,” he said, and Markus knew that he did; always, and in everything. “I have you.”

* * *

Thank you again, Disterra. I will never stop thanking you! What a wonderful look at Daniel we have here:  
  
  


By Our Own Disterra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can somebody say SLOW BURN because I CAN! Seriously, I was READY for it and everything. I wanted to get the lovin' in, but the chapter was getting a bit too long, but I promise you an indulgent AF chapter next time! It's even starting to annoy ME now.


	20. Brass Tacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to get down to the brass tacks, the crux of the matter, the main event. The big issue, the elephant in the room. It's here. Hello.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter sure was something...it was hard work, but I'm glad I took my time with it. It's even slightly longer than usual for you guys!

Simon untied the strings of Markus’ shirt, allowing it to fall open and reveal Markus’ muscular chest. Simon was unable to keep his hands from trailing over that newly exposed flesh, so lightly that it made Markus shiver. Even Simon seemed overwhelmed with the sight of him, his cheeks darkening with desire. Markus knew how much Simon wanted him and he saw the pure and unadulterated appreciation in Simon’s expression. Markus wanted to speak, to tease, but when Simon’s lips found his neck and his collar, he found himself unable to do so. His hands sought Simon’s waist and he yanked at his shirt so he could slip his hands beneath the fabric just as Simon had done, and pulled him close. 

The action, of course, forced Simon to stop what he was doing, but he did not falter, his lips finding Markus’ almost immediately and his arms wrapped firmly around Markus’ neck. Simon kissed Markus deeply, and Markus did his best to keep up, brow furrowed in concentration. He rolled his hips into Simon’s and he moaned against Markus’ lips. Simon pulled away reluctantly, needing to pause for breath. “Sit,” Simon breathed out, and gently led Markus to sit down on the edge of the bed where Simon had been sitting not a minute ago. Markus obeyed and watched as Simon got to his knees before him, tugging off his own socks and then Markus’ before he leaned up and captured Markus’ lips in a small, chaste kiss. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Simon asked gently.

Markus nodded and leant forward to capture Simon’s lips in another soft kiss. “Yes,” was all he could say. Simon nodded shortly before turning his attention to Markus’ lap, where he gently pried apart Markus’ legs and settled himself between them, a hand trailing from Markus’ knee to his hip where they found Markus’ crotch, his trousers still only partially undone. Markus couldn’t help yet another shudder run through him. Simon’s light touches would have been complete and utter torment if he did not know that Simon only meant to give him pleasure. Then, those pale fingers found Markus’ crotch and suddenly that light touch was something else. Simon palmed him through his trousers. He watched Simon smile a little, to find him half-hard already and unable to keep from choking back a moan. Markus’ face flushed and he clutched at the bedsheets tightly. He did not know what to do with his hands. Simon could have focused his attention on Markus’ lap, but instead, he found himself enraptured by Markus and his expressions. As he pleasured Markus with one hand, his other moved to finish unbuttoning Markus’ trousers. 

“Markus,” Simon whispered insistently, leaning forward a little and biting his lip as he waited. Markus forced himself to focus and searched Simon’s expression. When his eyes found Simon’s lips he knew what he wanted, and rushed to oblige. Markus kissed him and he felt Simon’s smile against his lips as he returned the gesture. He didn’t even notice until it was happening that Markus’ trousers had fallen away and Simon had his hand wrapped around his member. Markus was unable to stifle the moan he felt built up inside him as Simon pleasured him with his hand.

Thoughtlessly, Markus reached forward awkwardly, his hands finding Simon’s side, as he tried desperately to reach Simon’s own trousers but succeeded only in gathering up the material of Simon’s shirt in his hand. “A-am I not...” He protested softly, breaking their kiss long enough to speak. “Supposed to-”

“Hush,” Simon said softly, gently nudging one of Markus’ hands away. When Markus received the message, he released Simon and sat back a little. “Let me lead,” Simon ordered softly. “And show you the way,” he continued, giving Markus a reassuring kiss when the other man looked guiltily at him. “And next time you can do to me all I do to you and more if you wish it,” he said with a note of promise in his voice. Markus nodded and kissed Simon softly, their noses brushing. 

Simon hadn’t once faltered in his ministrations, and frankly, Markus was restless but Simon had him rooted to the spot. “I just...” Markus started shakily, kissing Simon again. “I want you to enjoy it.”

“I am,” Simon said, nudging Markus’ nose. “I do,” he reiterated, kissing Markus more firmly. “Do you want to know something, dove?”

Markus could only nod and not a moment later Simon picked up the pace with his hand and Markus had to stifle a moan. He did not even resist when Simon put a hand on his chest and pushed him to lay back upon the bed. “S-Simon...” he glanced down when he felt something change - Simon’s hand slowed again and not only did he feel Simon’s breath on his member but the warmth of his tongue and Markus wasn’t sure what to do or how to think. All he could see was the pale skin of Simon’s hand on his abdomen, flush against his own dusky flesh and Simon’s exploratory tongue on him.

“I knew you would be impressive,” Simon said and took Markus’ tip into his mouth for a distressingly short moment before he continued to speak. “But I hadn’t anticipated this,” he told Markus, giving his length a very pointed stroke. “I am honestly not sure I can take all of you in my mouth,” he said honestly and Markus felt his cheeks flare again. 

Markus tried to sit up, “I’m sorry-”

“No, no,” Simon said, quick to reassure his lover, and placing a hand flat on his stomach to settle him back down onto the bed. Markus did sit back but remained leaning back on his elbows, watching Simon intently. Markus watched Simon’s hand trail down to his thigh. “It is crude to say it but...I can’t wait to have every last inch of you inside me,” he whispered. Markus wasn’t exactly certain what the noise that left his throat was. “So I am going to do my utmost to take all of you now,” Simon continued with a smile, seeming pleased at the effect his words were having. “And  _ later _ .”

Without much more in the way of preamble, Markus watched as Simon turned his attention to Markus’ member and took him into his mouth again. Markus moaned, watching Simon lavish attention on him, licking and sucking in a way that Markus would never have expected from him. Of course, Markus knew about such things, but it was markedly different from experiencing them first hand. He found himself overwhelmed and grateful to be doing these things with Simon. Markus fell onto his back again and closed his eyes, moaning. “S-Simon...” he felt Simon tugging at his trousers, and when the blond tapped on his side, Markus raised his hips just enough to allow Simon to yank his trousers off, never once stopping as he took Markus in and out of his mouth. That was, until the moment Simon pulled away and Markus lifted his head to see Simon panting softly, with cheeks flushed and such lust in his eyes that Simon could have been a different person if Markus didn’t know better. 

Simon smiled. “One moment,” he requested, placing a hand on his chest as he caught his breath. 

“A-Are you alright?” Markus asked, equally breathless. 

“Yes,” Simon sighed out. “I just need a moment for something you will  _ really _ enjoy,” Simon said, adjusting his position from where he had settled between Markus’ legs. “Would you stay still for me?” Simon asked. Puzzled, Markus could only nod. “Good,” Simon responded with a small smile. “Because I have never done this with a man your size.”

Markus might have retorted that he was glad he could still provide Simon with something new, his words were fumbled and abandoned as he moaned, watching Simon engulf his dick anew. Up until that moment, Simon had kept one hand at the base of his member as he pleasured him with his mouth, but now, that hand was gone as Simon took the whole of him into his mouth. Markus could not attest as to how comfortable such an action could be, but he abandoned all thought when Simon moaned around him and sent shivers of pleasure up and down Markus’ body. Simon’s mouth was hot and wet and so tight it was all Markus could do to stay still. Markus felt his pleasure coil up inside him. “Oh, fu...” Markus groaned, and he felt Simon shift again. Simon placed his hands on Markus’ inner thighs as if to brace himself. Simon’s efforts to pleasure him intensifies and Markus groaned and felt himself uncoil, coming into Simon’s mouth. 

Simon made an indistinguishable noise and Markus felt his throat tighten around his member and after a moment Simon pulled away from him, bringing his hand to his lips. He coughed quietly. “Excuse me,” Simon said, panting.

Markus sat up, although he found he struggled to do so in the aftermath of his orgasm. “Dove, are you alright?” he asked, reaching for Simon, who sat up to meet Markus in an embrace. Markus felt Simon nodded where his forehead rested against Markus’ still-clothed chest.   
  
“Don’t worry,” Simon whispered. “A little something just went down the wrong way...I’m fine,” he said, looking up at Markus with a sincere smile. Markus couldn’t help but huff a laugh before taking Simon’s lips in another kiss.

Markus pulled back enough that he could bring their foreheads together and smile. “That was...” he began, still riding the waves of as pleasure that Simon had gifted to him. He couldn’t quite find the words.

“I was enjoying that,” Simon said softly. “And maybe with practice, you’ll last longer for me, but for now,” he continued, pulling back and coming to his feet. It was only then that Markus realised that Simon was still almost entirely dressed, clad in his shirt and trousers, through which Markus noticed his straining erection. “I have something else for you to do...if you’re ready and willing to continue.”

Markus answered just as eagerly as Simon had North when she had brought up the bedroom. “Yes, please,” he replied, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed.

The response garnered a small grin from Simon, who reached down and began to unbutton his trousers. Markus, however, brushed them aside in favour of doing it himself. Simon’s hands hovered close but did not touch, watching Markus and biting his lip as he did so. Experimentally, Markus mirrored Simon’s earlier actions and palmed Simon through his trousers. Simon moaned. One hand quickly found Markus’ shoulder and the other found Markus’ hand. He held Markus in place and Simon closed his eyes and collected himself. “Later, dove,” Simon whispered. Markus would never admit that the expression that crossed his face then could only ever be described as a pout. Gently, Simon nudged Markus’ hands away from him and began to step away.

“Wait,” Markus said, and Simon stilled, watching as Markus finished unbuttoning Simon’s trousers and allowing them to fall to the floor. He couldn’t help but notice Simon’s eager erection. “You are still wearing far too many clothes.”

Simon smiled, stepping out from his trouser where they had fallen on the floor. Racing, he cupped Markus’ cheek in his hand and Markus leant into it, pressing a kiss to Simon’s palm. “Thank you, dove,” Simon said with a soft chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss to Markus’ forehead before pulling away. Markus watched as Simon rounded the bed and moved to the bedside table, opening the drawer to retrieve its contents. Placing down upon the table, Simon closed the drawer and turned to look at Markus. Seeing the curious look on his lover’s face, Simon gestured to it. “Oil...for our pleasure,” he explained, climbing into the bed again and settling in the middle of it. Markus was forced to turn himself, to keep his attention on Simon as he spoke.

Markus scooted closer, his hands reaching for Simon instinctually, finding his knees, his thighs his hips and soon Markus had Simon hoisted up and into his arms, pulling them close, Simon moaning in his ear as their groins met and Simon wrapped his legs around Markus’ waist, locking them together. “How do we…?”

Simon squirmed feebly in his lap and sighed. “I want you inside me,” he whispered, blindly reaching for one of Markus’ hands from where it was wrapped around his waist and guiding it further south where Markus could feel the curve of Simon’s ass and the wanton heat that lingered there. “But it has to be your fingers first...with the oil.”

It didn’t take long for Markus to register the words and infer their meaning. Honestly, he didn’t much like the idea of sticking his fingers into such places, even if those places did belong to Simon. “Is...is that necessary?”

Simon stilled and pulled back to look Markus in the eye. Simon regarded him seriously, searching his expression. “I know,” he began, seeming to understand what Markus could not say. “It was an unpleasant thought for me at first, too,” he explained. “But it  _ is _ necessary,” he continued patiently. “Unless your goal is to hurt me, it is.”

“No,” Markus said quickly, his hold tightening on Simon in what he hoped was a reassuring embrace. “No, of course not. I would never deliberately hu-”

“Hush,” Simon said, unable to keep the bemused smile from crossing his features as Markus buried his face into Simon’s still clothed chest. Simon wrapped his arm loosely around Markus’ shoulders whilst the other stroke through Markus’ closely cropped hair, his pale fingers ghostly over the shell of Markus’ ear and the back of his neck. “I know. I believe you,” he whispered but could not keep the amusement out of his tone.

Markus glanced up at him, a false glare of accusation crossing his features. “What are you laughing at?”

“You are so...” Simon began but couldn’t keep from chuckling again. “You are a marvel to me, too,” he said by way of explanation. “This morning in my bedroom you had me believing you were some insatiable beast,” he said. Markus raised a brow. “But my lion has put away its claws,” he whispered, leaning down and trailing hot kisses along Markus’ cheek and jaw trailing a long line over his neck and shoulder. Simon felt Markus shudder. “I need you now, my lion.”

“You want a lion?” Markus asked rhetorically, shifting his hold on Simon and hummed in affirmation, adjusting his seat to keep from slipping off Markus’ lap. “I’ll give you a lion,” Markus said and lurched forward, ushing Simon down onto his back, quick to follow suit, pressing himself bodily against Simon who groaned when Markus, bracing himself on his elbow, rolled his hips into Simon’s own. 

“Oh, god,” Simon breathed helplessly, reaching for Markus unsuccessfully as he pulled away again and scooted further down, trailing kiss after kiss along Simon’s neck, collarbone and chest. He stopped only long enough to push the fabric of Simon’s shirt and it’s neckline to the side. Markus paused when he reached Simon’s nipple and placed a kiss upon it experimentally. When Simon let out a pleasant sigh, Markus continued, closing his mouth around it, sucking on it. Simon moaned again and Markus continued his ministrations, watching as Simon tilted his head back in pleasure. For a time, Markus nipped and sucked at Simon’s skin, switching his attention from one nipped to the other before he trailed those attentions further down Simon’s lithe form. Simon scrambled to accommodate Markus’ travels, pulling the fabric of his shirt up and over his head as Markus began to move further south. Markus had his hands on Simon’s hips, and Simon arched his ache as if simply trying to be closer to Markus and his attentions. When Markus reached Simon’s navel, Markus trailed his tongue from there up to Simon’s sternum. “M-Markus...” Simon moaned softly. 

“Am I yet a lion?” Markus whispered enjoying the lusty look on Simon’s face more than anything he had seen thus far. 

Simon reached down, took Markus’ face in his eyes and leveled him with a stern, but undeniably wanton stare. “Give me  _ more _ and you will be,” and Markus found Simon’s lips and captured them in a hungry kiss. Markus couldn’t resist reaching down and taking Simon’s wanting member into his hands and giving Simon the same treatment Simon had given him. Simon moaned loudly into his kiss.

Markus glanced to the side, eyeing the waiting jar of oil and nodded. Simon whined when Markus released him just long enough to reach across him and retrieve the oil. Markus settled back into his knees, between Simon’s spread legs and opened the jar. Dipping his fingers inside.

Weakly, Simon got up onto his elbows to watch Markus carefully. “Go slowly,” Simon said softly. “One finger at a time.”

Balancing the jar carefully on the mattress, Markus moved, his slick fingers toying tentatively with Simon’s entrance. The sounds Simon made were small but not pained and it only encouraged Markus to continue. Markus was already half-hard with pleasure and when Simon bit his lips and spread his legs wider in expectation, Markus felt himself jump to life eagerly. He couldn’t help but crawl back over to Simon’s lip and take them passionately in an amorous kiss of his own as he stretched Simon around his fingers. Simon braced his arms over Markus’ back and quivered against him, moaning softly. 

“So good,” Simon said softly into Markus’ ear when he pulled away to catch his breath. “Very good...” Simon praised and Markus knew he was not only commending the sensation but Markus himself. Markus, it seemed, was a good student. Markus captured Simon in another kiss, swallowing a moan as he added another finger, stretching Simon further. He felt Simon try and fail to wrap his legs around Markus’ waist. Simon squirmed beneath him. When it came time, he added another and made sure to probe Simon deeply. Simon had made a point to tell him how big he was, so Markus knew he had to be thorough.

What he was not expecting was the moment Simon jerked away from the kiss and grip Markus tightly as he moaned loudly. It was the loudest sound Markus had ever heard leave Simon’s lips. Even when impassioned by anger, his voice was a pale echo compared to what it was not. “Di-” Markus stilled, “Simon did I hurt-”

“ _ Do that again _ ,” Simon practically growled at him, panting and writhing on the mattress as he raised his hips as if to try and push himself onto Markus’ hand. “ _ Right now _ ,” he continued and if Markus was not mistaken, he heard an edge of pleading to Simon’s voice. 

Markus panicked. “U-uh,” he said and floundered to accommodate. It took a few attempts, but soon enough Markus found the bundle of nerves that waited within Simon and he watched his lover squirm, and turn his head to the side and bury his face in the cushion beneath his head. It truly was a sight to see, and the noises Simon made, loud as they were, were undeniably wanton. Just listening to them made Markus want Simon even more. Markus was beginning to wonder if he might bring Simon to completion with his touch alone, but he never got to find out.

Simon reached down and grabbed his wrist blindly, panting heavily. “Please, enough,” Simon said and Markus pulled away obediently. Simon sat up and swallowed, breathing hard. It was only then that Markus had it in him to be concerned. 

“Are you alright?” He couldn’t help but ask, scooting closer, hands finding Simon’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Simon smiled, shakily, cleared riddled with pleasure. “ _ Yes _ , dove...” he continued and moved to sit up. “Your turn...lie back,” Curious, Markus nodded slowly and took Simon’s place on the bed, laying back. Simon collected the jar of oil in his hands and poured a generous amount onto his palm before he took hold of Markus’ member and coated him with it. Markus Grit his teeth and kept still, watching as Simon soon straddled his hip. When he leaned over to replace the oil back onto the bedside table, Markus couldn’t help but touch Simon’s naked skin. “Oh, that reminds me,” Simon said with a little smile, reaching for Markus’ shirt and beginning to push it up Markus’ chest insistently. 

Obligingly, Markus shifted enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it blindly to one side. Markus watched Simon take him in hunger, even laughing a little when Simon seemed so taken in that he rather thoughtlessly put a hand on Markus’ abs, as if to make certain that they were real. “Do I please you?” he teased.

Simon let out a desirous huff. “In every way,” he said with a certainty that made Markus blush. 

When Simon moved to sit up again, he took Markus into his hand and Markus watched as he lined Markus’ member up with his entrance. It was torturously slow, but when Simon began to lower himself onto Markus, he couldn’t help but move, Simon occasionally rocking up and down to ease his way onto his lover. When Markus couldn’t help but rock his hip upward as he tried to accommodate Simon, his lover moaned and nodded, closing his eyes. Markus repeated the action. Simon moaned. Together they worked to ease Simon onto him completely and by the end of it, Simon was panting, harder than ever and flushed with want. He was so tight and hot around Markus that Markus wasn’t certain what to do with himself, or how to proceed, or even if he wanted to. “Do you...” Markus breathed out, “have any idea...how beautiful you are...?”

“You can tell me later, dove,” Simon said, biting his lip.

“You have a certain habit of leaving things for later...” Markus said, his hands finding their way to Simon’s knees and travelling up his thighs. He felt Simon quiver under his touch. He sat, his legs jolting Simon forward in his seat as he did so, and Markus felt himself move inside Simon, who moaned as his arms found their way around Markus’ shoulders. “Never now,” Markus whispered, kissing Simon. 

Simon pulled away. “ _ Now _ ,” Simon began seriously, leaning back and bracing himself with one hand on the mattress and the other on Markus’ shoulder as he rocked his hips forward. Markus groaned. “It is...time for something else entirely.”

Markus fell silent then, basking in the sensations his lover aroused in him - for him. They rocked together until Markus’ back complained and he fell away from Simon, who did not complain. As Markus lay back on the bed, Simon put his other hand down on the mattress and suddenly the rhythm of it all changed. Simon sped up, taking longer, deeper thrusts down onto Markus. It was as maddening as it had been before, but Markus had to take a perverse sort of pleasure in watching Simon spear himself onto him. Markus’ leisure only increased when Simon was suddenly moaning again, arching his back in such a way that Markus had seemingly found that bundle of nerves that had driven Simon wild not long ago. Those long as deep thrusts became short and sharp and both men lost themselves in the pleasure of it all, Markus moving his own hips to meet Simon’s as he brought himself down onto Markus. 

Then, Markus heard it. Simon’s breathing. It was ragged and when Markus looked, he could see intense concentration warring with pleasure and before Markus could say anything, he cried out, Simon clenched around him so tightly that with one final thrust Markus found release right alongside Simon, whose essence spilt across Markus’ dusky skin. 

Simon’s cry was strangled and airless and Markus sat up quickly and Simon fumbled to climb off of Markus. What was left of what Markus had to give spilt itself across Simon’s pale thighs as Markus pulled Simon into his arms. Simon half clung to him as he buried himself into the mattress and Markus’ side, breathing heavily, his chest rattling. “Simon...” Markus whispered in obvious concern, turning on his side to trail his fingers through Simon’s hair in what he hoped was a soothing fashion.

“I am...” Simon said, struggling to speak and swallowed. “I...forgive me I’m fine,” he seemed to wheeze out in one breath.

Markus was not fool enough not to know what had happened. “You over-exerted yourself,” Markus whispered, still riding his high and feeling almost guilty for it, knowing it came at the expense of his lover. He could only wonder about what Simon was feeling, wracked with pleasure and yet suffering for it. 

Simon closed his eyes and nodded, focused on his breathing. Markus lay still and quiet bringing one of Simon’s hands to his lips and lacing their fingers together. He peppered the back of Simon’s hands with gentle and sporadic kisses whilst the other remained to stroke through Simon’s hair. He waited patiently for Simon’s breathing to even out. He spoke only when Simon could look at him again and by then he was uncertain how much time had passed. “Does this happen a lot?” he had to ask.

Simon nodded. “I...struggle,” he admitted hesitantly, and Markus couldn’t help but give him a reproachful look. “It was hard to keep up with Rupert sometimes, but...I tried.”

Rupert was not exactly a topic of conversation Markus wanted to entertain, but when it came to Simon's well-being, what Markus wanted didn’t matter. “Did he never wait for you?”

Simon swallowed but nodded. “H-he did,” he said, quick to reassure. “But he would become...impatient, sometimes,” when Markus said nothing, Simon watched his expression. It did not take him long to find the irritation and the anger there. “He was someone who knew what he wanted,” Simon said, smart enough to know the anger wasn’t aimed at him. “And sometimes, it was hard to wait,” he explained slowly, hesitantly. It was as if he knew that by trying to defend Rupert, he was merely digging him a deeper hole. “It was one of the reasons I feel for him. It is...one of the reasons I took to you as I did.”

Markus frowned. “Don’t compare me to him,” he couldn’t help but say, getting up onto an elbow and watching Simon as he lay on his side. Simon had to roll onto his back to see him clearly as Markus watched him from above.

“Why not?” Simon asked, raising a brow. “He was my lover, yes, but that does not mean you do not share similar traits.”

“I would never ask you to hurt yourself for my own pleasure,” Markus said firmly, a little cross. “If you had told me, I-”

Simon reached up, cupping Markus’ cheek in a pale hand. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I did not seek to offend you,” he explained gently. “I only wanted your first time to be special, and that meant putting my needs aside for a little while,” he said, lowering his hand to rest it across his middle languidly. 

Markus closed his eyes and huffed, bringing Simon’s hand to his lips again and pressing a solid kiss upon his knuckles. “Never,” he said, kissing the back of Simon’ hand. “ _ Never _ hurt yourself on my account again,” he said smiling down at his dove, who smiled back almost sleepily. 

“Yes, Markus,” Simon whispered so softly it was almost inaudible. 

Markus shifted again to get comfortable as he lay down. Both Simon and he worked their way under the bedsheets and soon found themselves warm in each other's arms. Markus had his chest pressed to Simon’s back as he held the other close. Markus simply couldn’t keep his hands from wandering over Simon’s exposed skin and when he was certain Simon was able, he coaxed his lover into another round of intimacy. The second time they made love it was slower, and Markus took Simon from behind, where he lay. As their passion grew, so did the volume of Simon’s voice and when Markus found those nerves again, Simon’s arm shot out as he jerked forward, groping blindly for the bedside table in the hopes of bracing himself upon it. 

Simon only succeeded in knocking over the jar of oil, and the porcelain shattered on the ground.

* * *

On the floor below, North endured the sounds from above with remarkable indifference, focusing her attention on the cushion, which she had unpicked several times already and started over. Every time her sewing came away ugly and uneven, and it was doing more than simply frustrating her. 

Josh, however, stood from his chair, seemingly uncomfortable. “I think, perhaps, I shall start on dinner,” he asked when a particularly loud cry from upstairs provoked him into action. “Are you hungry?”

“Famished,” she responded casually, hearing Simon shout the name of his lover to the heavens high above them all. “I believe there are still potatoes in the pantry,” she added, promptly stabbing herself with the needle in her hands. “Josh-” she cried haltingly as he made to leave the room. When he stopped to look back at her, she held the cushion and needle out to him. “Please?” she asked, to echoes of the same sentiment from upstairs. 

Josh looked uncomfortably at the ceiling and shook his head. “Oh no,” he said. “You lost that game, so you pay the price,” he said turning on his heels and disappearing into the next room. 

“Please Josh,” she begged but did not bother to rise from her seat. She heard more begging from upstairs. “I am so sick of needlework - can’t I do something else equally unproductive?” she asked loudly enough that her voice carried into the next room. “Like painting or writing a book?”

“Not until you have repaired the cushion,” Josh said firmly. 

North scowled at the needle in her hand and whispered. “I hate you,” to the needle venomously. Then, came the sound of shattered porcelain. “Ah,” she said, smiling a little to herself. 

Josh came back into the living room, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “What was that?” he asked, making his way out of the room. “I should-”

“Josh,” North called, shaking her head when he turned to look at her. “Remember what happened the last time you investigated the room when you heard something break?”

Josh paused. “You raise a good point,” Josh said, clearing his throat and turning on his heels to return to the kitchen. North merely chuckled to herself.

* * *

Markus stopped mid-thrust, shocked.

Simon too paused, somewhat confused as to why Markus has stopped moving. “What’s wrong?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“The-” he said, glancing down at the ruined jar and its contents which decorated the floor. “Should we clean that up?” he couldn’t help but ask. “Should we get some more, or…?”

“No, dove,” Simon said panting as he waved a hand dismissively, craning his neck to look over his shoulder at Markus. “This happens all the time,” he said with an air of normalcy that Markus might have found comical if he wasn’t buried inside his lover. “There’s a spare jar in the drawer,” he added, pulling said drawer open sharply enough that Markus could hear the object within scrape across the wood. Simon made a point to close it again, however. He supposed it was best to leave the oil where it was safe and protected from Simon’s carelessness. 

Markus blinked. “That really happens a lot, then?” he could help but ask.

Simon nodded in affirmation. “Yes,” he said, although the bemusement in Markus’ expression made Simon’s expression turn shy. “It is...I suppose it means you’re doing well?”

Markus couldn’t help but laugh at that. “When you break things,” he pondered aloud, and slowly rolled his hips into Simon’s backside again, listening to him moan. “It means I give you all the pleasure in this world you deserve?” 

“Markus, I adore your constant romanticism,” Simon said, sighing through his pleasure. “But if you could just fuck me, for now, that would be wonderful.”

Markus’ laugh was little more than a snort of amusement, but he said nothing, more than happy to oblige.

* * *

And here, we have the final instalment of Disterra's wonderful art! Presenting to you: Simon!

By Our Own Disterra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now you've figured out I have no idea how to relationship or how sex even. Honestly, I had a lot of fun with this chapter but [I swear I was writing this scene half the time](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6C44ybv5lis). Anyone who is familiar with Moulin Rouge already knows the scene I'm on about. FREE THE TIGER, indeed.
> 
> Honestly, these two just kept being too damn cute for their own good, I was afraid I might have to do this chapter in two parts. Je Refuse! So you guys got a longer chapter and I really hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for putting up with the slow-burn. But hey, we found the bottom of the candle wick! Yayy, us!


	21. The Clandestine Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a quiet moment together, Markus asks Simon a question he may not like the answer to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge break! It took me AGES to get my shit together for this chapter. I knew what I wanted to happen, but alas, with some things, it take a lot of time to get ones thoughts in order!

Markus lay back, propped up against the headboard of the bed with pillows supporting his back. Simon’s head lay in his abdomen as Markus ran his fingers through his hair in a repetitive and soothing motion. Simon had one arm wrapped under Markus whilst he traced his fingers over the naked flesh of Markus’ hip, just above the bedding that pooled around them. The sensation was ticklish, but pleasantly so. They lay together in silence and were it not for Simon’s touch, Markus might have thought him asleep. Markus felt exhausted, too exhilarated to sleep. 

He couldn’t help but ponder the course of the evening, and frown a little, his hand stilling in Simon’s hair. After a short time Simon’s finger stopped tracing it’s aimless patterns along Markus’ skin as well. Markus felt him shift and prop himself up on his elbows to regard Markus curiously. “Why would you do that?” Markus asked, meeting Simon’s gaze evenly, searching.

Simon frowned. “Do what?” he asked. To Markus, Simon seemed perturbed by the question and at a loss as to what he meant, but Markus saw something else. A trepidation of a kind that came only with knowledge. Markus was sure that Simon knew of what it was that Markus spoke, of course, apparently Simon was unwilling to own up to it. Perhaps he was afraid to own it, maybe even hoping he was mistaken. The last thing he would want to do in that situation was bring something to light that ought not to be.

“Talk about Rupert,” Markus clarified with a faint frown. He watched as Simon’s hope dwindled and he swallowed his nerves.

Simon sat up slowly, pulling the bed sheets with him to protect his modesty. Despite the slow souring of his thoughts, Markus couldn’t help but feel endeared to Simon at the motion. Markus had given Simon all he had to give, but now he wondered if Simon had done the same. “I’m sorry,” Simon said softly. “I wasn’t thinking, I...”

Markus shook his head slightly, reached up, gesturing for Simon to come closer. Obediently, Simon scooted further up the bed until his waist was level with Markus’ own, and the brown-skinned man could reach out and place a hand on those pale hips. He kneaded his thumb gently into that flesh and Simon bit his lip. “Why?” Markus whispered in askance.

Simon worried at the bedding between his fingers. “You are wonderful, Markus,” Simon said softly. “And you may not wish to hear it, but...I grieve still,” he admitted to Markus. “I have others I can speak to, but...no-one understands the nature of the relationship I had with Rupert better than you, especially now,” he explained, gaze falling to his lap.

Markus frowned ponderously. Of course, Markus should have been mindful of the fact that Simon’s wounds were still fresh. Just because Simon had taken a new lover it did not mean the old one was forgotten. For better or worse, Simon was attached to Rupert and perhaps he always would be in some capacity. “Do you draw comparisons between us?”

“Yes,” Simon professed. “But it is not to harm you,” he told Markus, his tone sincere. Simon’s hand reached out, to stroke Markus’ chest absently, looking off to the side to avoid Markus’ searching gaze. “It is for myself that I do it, though I suspect it is because I feel guilty.”

Markus’ brow furrowed. “For taking a lover?”

Simon closed his eyes and sighed. “For taking one so quickly.”

It was true, he and Simon had not known one another for a significant amount of time, but Markus had never felt so strongly for another person, either. Simon was a certain kind of creature; rare and beautiful as a fox in the night and just as mysterious. “You said once that we hardly knew each other,” Markus said, reaching out to take Simon’s hand in his own where it rested atop his chest. Simon simply nodded in response, waiting for Markus to continue. “I concede the fact,” he told Simon, who finally turned to look at him, watching with a cautious eye. “Will you tell me something of yourself I do not know?” he questioned. “Anything at all?”

“I am not a man of many secrets, Markus,” Simon said with a frown. 

“I’m not asking for secrets,” Markus said. “I am asking for the truth,” he told Simon, careful to make his tone even and patient. “Do you love me?”

Simon’s eyes widened at the question, horrified. He pulled his hand from Markus’ own and swallowed and seemed to curl into himself. Markus sat up straighter now, feeling a kind of trepidation rise within him. Markus folded one leg at the knee, his other foot coming to rest on the cold wood of the floor. The sensation grounded him.

“Why would you ask such a thing?” Simon asked, clearly hurt and if Markus didn’t know better, he would have said that Simon seemed afraid. Markus could already see in the low light of the room that Simon’s eyes were wet with unshed tears. In truth, even as Markus tried to answer Simon’s question, Markus’ lips would not form the words. He had no answer. Rupert brought something ugly out in Markus, something covetous and green and he was ashamed of it. Who in their right mind would envy a dead man? When Markus did not immediately answer, Simon’s voice wavered and his lips quivered as he answered. “I told you,” he whispered, voice hitching. “I am grieving.”

It was as if Rupert himself was squeezing his heart in his chest. “So you don’t,” Markus said, his tone lending itself to more of a statement than a question. It made Simon turn away from him, stung. “Tell me you aren’t simply using me-”

“_ No _ ,” Simon interrupted sharply, turning back to look at Markus. The look on his face was twisted into something complicated. The hurt was obvious though Markus thought he spied offence and alarm. “How _ dare _ you, no,” he cried although there was no heat in his voice, and presumed to move closer again, until his leg was almost flush against Markus’ own.

When he reached out to try and take Markus’ face into his pale hands, Markus’ intercepted them with a gentle touch. “Simon,” Markus said, trying to speak, voice thick.

“I _ do _ care,” Simon said and scrambled to take Markus’ hands in his own where they rested, loosely wrapped around Simon’s wrists. Markus allowed it, surprised. “I care for you, _ I swear it _,” he sobbed. Even in his sadness, Simon was usually so reserved that it was admittedly a shock to Markus to witness this clutching, weeping and pleading mess that Simon had so rapidly dissolved into. “I could never use you like that.”

Markus took in the sight before him, Smon’s cheeks were wet with heavy tears and Markus could feel Simon’s hands shake in his. There was nothing but sadness in Simon’s eyes save for the insinuation of apprehension beneath it. He watched Simon release one hand and then take Markus’ already occupied hand in both of his own, bringing Markus’ hand to his lips and placing a firm, reassuring kiss upon his knuckles. Markus was unsure how to respond until Simon spoke again.

The anguish in Simon’s eyes gave way to something else, more palpable. “Please don’t leave me,” Simon whispered hopelessly against the skin of Markus’ hand, lips brushing against his knuckles as he did so. 

“Oh, Simon,” Markus whispered in fond exasperation. He sat up so suddenly that Simon was too surprised to speak when he felt himself being pulled forward and into Markus’ arms. He could only allow himself to be manoeuvred into the correct position, half lying across Markus’ chest with his head resting upon Markus’ shoulder. Simon curled onto his side flush against Markus as if by instinct, no doubt wishing to be closer to him. “What have I told you about doves?”

Immediately, Markus felt Simon’s arms encircling him in a tight embrace as he sobbed - in obvious relief - into Markus’ shoulder. “Thank you,” Simon said, voice hitching. “I’m sorry,” he continued with a sniffle. “Thank you...”

For a time, Markus endeavoured to soothe Simon. Of course, it hurt him to think that Simon was not so deeply in love as Markus was, but he had also never filled his heart with everything another person could give before; not the way Simon had at any rate. As he feared, Markus was sharing Simon with a shadow and perhaps Markus would vanquish it, given time; Perhaps he would not. “I love you, dove,” Markus whispered into Simon’s ear gently. “Bid me go and I shall, but I am yours until then.”

Simon did not answer, but instead cuddled closer to him. The pair soon found themselves dozing off in one another’s arms.

* * *

Hours later, night had fallen proper, and Markus found himself being shaken awake by Simon, whose eyes were red-rimmed, but his smile was soft and gracious as always. “Wake up, dove,” Simon urged placidly. “It is almost midnight and we must return home,” he said, and Markus closed his eyes, feeling the back of Simon’s fingers running across his cheek, sweet and coaxing.

Reaching blindly for Simon’s hand, Markus captured it gently pressing a languid kiss on the back of that pale hand as his eyes fluttered open to see gentle blue watching him fondly. Before Markus could open his mouth to speak, Simon was smiling sweetly. “I think you might be from heaven,” Simon confided, earnest in his declaration.

Markus’ brow furrowed faintly as he blinked, blearily up at Simon. His words seemed to take a moment to register. “I could say the same for you,” Markus mumbled and reached out. Simon sank down into Markus’ reaching arms and Markus turned on his side, snuggling into the blond. “But heaven doesn’t close its gates at midnight,” Markus said, into Simon’s collarbone, and he felt the man shudder at the sensation of warmth on his side. “There is no rush, my angel...we can sleep.”

Simon chuckled, good-naturedly. “Good lord, even half-asleep you are a poet,” he said and began to extract himself from Markus’ embrace. Of course, Markus protested with an unintelligible groan, so Simon began trailing gentle kisses along Markus neck and shoulder. “But the estate is not heaven and its gates may not be closed to us, but we need to return home before morning.”

Markus huffed in irritation, and opened his eyes again at last. “Why?” he complained.

“Two reasons,” Simon said, wagging two fingers at Markus demonstrable. “The first,” Simon said, lowering one of those fingers. “Is to avoid and abate suspicion,” he listed, raising the second finger again. “And the second is to be rested enough to keep my cousin and her family entertained.”

Markus had quite forgotten about the visitation of their mysterious cousin Emma. “Oh, of course,” Markus said to himself with a sigh and forced himself to get up. When Markus was upright, Simon hovered, his hesitation obvious. Markus would have asked what the matter was, but Simon seemed done with whatever internal debate he was having and Markus found himself being kissed. It was a fleeting ghost of a touch, as if Simon were afraid to trespass against him. Simon had scarcely begun to pull away before Markus chased after him, quick to capture Simon’s lips with his own again, firm and gentle and reassuring. Clearly their confrontation still weighed heavily on Simon’s mind. It weighed on Markus also, but there was no sense in making Simon feel guilty over it. There would be nothing to be gained from shaming Simon for his grief.

“Come,” Markus said as he pulled away slowly. “You will make us late if this carries on,” Markus said playfully, as if he were not the one to have delayed them in the first place. Markus threw his sheet off and got out of bed as Simon out an incredulous, but no less amused huff. Simon too, got to his feet. The pair of them dressed in relative silence. Eventually the two of them excited the townhouse almost soundlessly. They saw nobody else on their way out and Markus suspected that Miss North and her man Josh had gone to bed for the evening.

As they approached the end of the street, where the road forked in two different directions, Markus witnessed a figure standing just beyond the light of a nearby lantern outside of a busy pub. The noise was faint but noticeable even with the doors closed. The figure, Markus realised, was known to him. He knew it when they lifted a hand to acknowledge the passing pair, fingers twiddling in the air by way of greeting in a long-forgotten but familiar gesture. Ralph, true to his word, was watching. Markus felt the sudden urge to fuss with his clothes, but suppressed it. There was no way Ralph could know what they had done, surely. Markus chose not to draw attention to it, more than happy for Simon to have continued on, blissfully unaware.

They walked into the night and further into the busier part of town until they came to a coach and paid the driver to return them home. The carriage ride was quiet for a time until Simon placed a hand on Markus’ arm. Markus jumped slightly at the touch. “Markus,” Simon started, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Oh,” Markus began, settling back into his seat. “Yes,” he assured softly, although he glanced out of the window as if expecting to see Ralph walking alongside the carriage, looking in. Clearing his throat, Markus drew the curtain in the window of the carriage door to allow some measure of privacy. “Tired, I suppose. Forgive me,” he said, offering Simon a gentle smile. Boldly, Markus reached over and wrapped his arm around Simon’s wasit from where he sat beside him in the carriage. Simon, although puzzled, did not protest, more than happy to lean into Markus’ embrace whilst they had a quiet moment together. 

“I’m sorry,” Simon whispered into the momentary silence that followed. “I did not wish to wake you, but we had to leave.”

Markus nodded. It made sense. From what Markus knew all Simon’s past outings indicated that he usually slipped home in the early hours of the morning, so as not to arouse questions when morning came. “I know, my heart,” Markus assured sweetly, pressing a kiss to the top of Simon’s head. 

Neither spoke after that, content to enjoy their closeness until the swaying of the carriage slowed and they were forced to pull away from one another as the coach slowed to a stop. Markus exited the coach first and helped Simon out after him with a smile one could only consider suave, but made sure that his touch and his eyes never lingered too long on Simon in the presence of the driver. Before long the pair found themselves walking up the driveway to the Warren estate, closing the front gates (which were thankfully unlocked) behind them as they did so. 

They slipped inside via the conservatory doorway at the back of the house and stepped quietly back into the manor. Together, they moved through the house until they reached their rooms, pausin outside of Markus’ own. Markus stopped, taking Simon by the hand as he opened his bedroom door, glancing around briefly before pulling Simon into his bedroom and closing the door softly behind them.

Wordlessly, he pressed Simon into the wall and captured the blond’s lips in his own. It was slow and sensuous and Markus enveloped Simon in his arms as Simon wrapped his arms around Markus’ shoulders. For a while they did nothing but kiss and simply bask in one another’s presence. When at last they pulled away, Markus spoke. “I will wait for you,” Markus vowed. “I know you hurt, but I will be here always.”

Simon pressed his forehead to Markus’ own, bringing a hand to cup Markus’ rough cheek. “I do not deserve you,” Simon lamented, to which Markus teased and brushed his nose against Simon’s own.

“You probably don’t,” he whispered, pulling away just enough to wink playfully at his lover. 

Simon sighed good-naturedly and Markus felt Simon’s thumb running over the stubble on his cheek. “You need a shave, good sir,” Simon admonished sweetly. “Come to my room tomorrow morning.”

“I will endeavour to obey,” Markus said, although he remained in place, his hands resting loosely on Simon’s waist, thumbs running over the fabric of Simon’s waistcoat in gentle circles.

“Excellent,” Simon said. “Now, to bed with you.”

Markus paused and smirked, slow and amused. “Now, I know you slept here last night,” Markus informed Simon in hushed tones. “But this is still my room, as much as I long to share it with you.”

Simon glanced behind Markus as if to make sure Markus could substantiate his claim and Simon’s cheeks flushed to discover Markus was, of course, correct. “Oh,” Simon said, biting his lip. “Yes, of course,” he said, clearing his throat and stepping away from Markus. “Goodnight, Markus.” 

Markus nodded and watched as Simon opened his door and stepped back out into the corridor. “Goodnight, dove,” he replied, closing his door behind Simon as he walked away, leaving Markus in the silence of his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, while I was trying to get my thoughts out, I wound up getting an idea out of my head an onto paper (put there by wonderful friends), so I took some time to write a one-shot Simkus that can be found with my other fics! So, I wasn't doing NOTHING, I was just doing something I wasn't supposed to be doing, technically. So if you guys want to check out something more along the lines of an original-setting story, there's one waiting!
> 
> I'm disappointed with how long I took to write this chapter, but suffice to say something important went down here today, and you know what? This fic has been going on long enough that in time we will reach the end and when that time comes I'll be sad and proud of us all. It's just at the stage of writing that I think I struggle with most, so I only as for patience! 'm so excited for what is to come!


	22. Emma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning comes and so does the promised shave. 
> 
> Markus has to look presentable for the arrival of the favourite cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry for the wait and I hope it's worth it. I've been so excited for this chapter that it took a while to get things in order and when it came to writing it, I wanted it to be JUST SO. So, it took some time. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Markus struggled to sleep that night, rolling over in his bed to seek a warmth that wasn’t there - a warmth that until recently hadn’t been missed. Reaching for cold sheets was like grasping at a memory - insubstantial and less and less satisfying the more he pondered Simon’s touch. He ached for it like a child yearned for a simple lemon sorbet, only to have it melt away at his touch like a dream drowned in once-sweet bitterness. Simon was in the room down the hall and the distance felt like a nightmare hitherto unknown. Markus missed the feel of him draped across his side and the rise and fall of his chest as he slept and the sensation of gentle fingers trailing over his skin. He almost wished that the night had not unfolded as it did and that their affection had not been so ardently and so intimately impressed upon him. Of course, Markus did not regret it, only missed it.

When he did finally sleep, it was restless and wanting, and although he was tired when he awoke, Markus was more than willing to get out of bed, eager to see Simon again. A glance at the clock told Markus that the hour was fast approaching nine o’clock and by ten the Warrens would be receiving their guests. So, he threw off his covers and slipped out of his bed, wetting his face at the wash basin in the corner of the room. He dressed quickly in a neat grey pin-stripe suit with a cherry red ascot and pale yellow waistcoat. He wore a silver pocket watch to match.

As promised, Markus soon found himself at Simon’s bedroom door, knocking quietly and waiting for a response. It came moments later, with Simon answering the door and allowing Markus to slip inside without a word, the most brilliant benign smile on his face. The moment the door was closed, Markus swept Simon up into his arms and delighted in the gentle laughter that followed. Markus’ lips found Simon’s own and he felt like he was dreaming again. “Well, good morning,” Simon said, whispered against Markus’ lips, nose brushing against Markus’.

“Indeed,” Markus replied softly, lips finding Simon’s own again, eager but chaste. “I couldn’t sleep for missing you,” he confided and Simon couldn’t help but smile giddily. “I had the most terrible dream,” he told Simon, whose smile faded.

“What did you dream, dove?” Simon asked when Markus held him closer, as if he were afraid Simon would slip away from him. 

“I reached for you and you weren’t there,” he whispered, to which Simon smiled, soothing and sweet, his hand cupping Markus’ stubbled cheek. Markus turned his lips into that hand and kissed Simon’s palm. “When I called you did not come,” he whispered. “The bed was cold where you lay but I felt your absence in my bones...I felt as if you weren’t ever coming back to me,” he couldn’t quite bring himself to mention how bereft the feeling had left him. He tried not to think of what it might be like to wake up to see Simon’s face in a newspaper to proclaim him a dead man walking.

“Well, I am here,” Simon reassured softly, pressing his lips to Markus’ own, patient against the insistent desperation of Markus’ affection. “I am here and I do not intend to go anywhere,” he informed Markus with a certainty that Markus was sure was false, although he appreciated the attempt. Both men were fully aware that they were far from safe with Police Constable Connor sniffing around them like a dog looking for a bone. 

In a bid not to be quite as fatalistic as he felt, Markus smiled and pressed a kiss to Simon’s lips and nodded. “Did you not promise me a shave?” he asked.

Simon pulled away with a pleasant smile, and gestured to the corner of the room where a chair was set in front of a basin basin a jug, along with a standing mirror. Simon led Markus over with a hand on the small of his back, allowing Markus to sit in the chair. He couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him as Simon began undoing his ascot, slipping the fabric from around Markus’ neck and putting it aside. Simon loosened the strings at the collar of his shirt and pulled the fabric away from his neck slightly, exposing his dusky skin. “Do you trust me?” Simon asked, pale skin running over the stubble gracing the underside of Markus’ chin. 

“Do you think I would let you near me with a razor if I didn’t?” Markus asked, with a raised brow, resisting the urge to reach for Simon’s hand, to kiss it, to kiss him. 

Simon hummed softly, amused. “May it be the last mistake you ever make,” he teased, reaching for a bowl of shaving cream that Simon seemed to have already prepared, along with a clean shaving brush. 

Markus scoffed in good humour. “Such morbidity so early in the morning...”

“I could wait for the afternoon if the time of day is your only gripe,” Simon informed Markus lightly, raising a brow as he began to lather the brush and paint his cheek with white foam. “Or would the evening suit you better?”

“I would listen to you jest morning, noon and night if I could,” Markus said with a grin. “Although I do wonder if I might genuinely have to fear for my life,” he said, and Simon chuckled. 

“I promise, it would be a bigger mistake not to trust me,” Simon said sincerely, albeit with some measure of severity that Markus did not want to challenge. “Especially right now,” Simon continued, picking up the straight razor when he finished lathering Markus’ cheeks and putting the brush and bowl aside.

“You raise a good point,” Markus said, as Simon opened the straight razor and revealed the blade. 

Simon hummed, amused, leaning forward and beginning to shave. Markus couldn’t help the nervous thrill that ran through him when the blade touched the skin of his neck but he remained dutifully still. Markus took the time to examine Simon as they lapsed into comfortable silence with nothing but the scrape of the blade against Markus’ stubbled skin. Simon himself appeared freshly shaved, wearing a white shirt with cream trousers and a pale blue waistcoat. He wore a simple brown ascot. He looked a little tired and Markus suspected that the cold had kept him up again. Simon did, however, appear to be in good spirits. 

“There,” Simon uttered softly when he was finished, placing the blade down in favour of wiping away what remained of the shaving cream from Markus’ cheeks with a small towel.

Markus couldn’t help but sit forward and reach up, taking Simon’s hand in his own where it pressed the cloth into his cheek. “Thank you, my dove,” he whispered, swallowing the urge to tell Simon how much he adored him, suspecting that it would only make Simon feel uncomfortable given their conversation the night prior. He knew Simon felt guilty enough over what happened to Rupert, Markus did not want to add to that guilt. The last thing Markus would want would be to force Simon to lie. 

Leaning down, Simon gently tilted Markus’ face towards his own, and captured his lips in a tender kiss. “My pleasure, dove,” he whispered, and pulled away before gesturing to a small collection of bottles beside the wash basin. “I have a number of aftershaves for you to choose from...”

Curiously, Markus had paid very little attention to the way in which Simon smelled, although now he thought about it, it was often soft and sweet but with an underlying warmth he could never quite place. Markus had never known anything like it. Even looking at the labels on the bottles in front of him, Markus could not discern what it was that Simon reminded him of. Eventually however, Markus came upon a bottle that suited him and uncorking it, he was greeted with a waft of the perfume within. There was a most prevenant bouquet of orange blossom and cinnamon amongst other things. 

Markus applied the aftershave as Simon walked away, adjusting his ascot in a nearby mirror. He made a habit of being liberal with his perfumes, mostly to hide his more unpleasant odours with limited success. Leo’s habits did not lend themselves to subtlety, or even safety. It was as if Leo was determined to walk into the world Markus had tried so very hard to escape. 

When he was ready, Markus stood and approached Simon from behind, wrapping his arms around Simon’s middle and for a time was content to cradle his lover in his arms, chin resting upon his shoulder. In time he felt Simon, ever cautious, slowly relax in his arms. “You don’t have to say it, dove,” Markus murmured sweetly into Simon’s ear after a long moment of silence. “Just know that I love you,” he whispered, quite unable to keep it to himself any longer. Markus saw the brief flash of guilt in Simon’s reflection in the mirror across from them, but was quick to sooth it with a gentle trail of kisses along Simon’s jaw before he pulled away and allowed Simon to right himself.

“Come,” Simon said, walking to his door. “We should go downstairs before we are missed,” he said, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway with Markus close behind. Markus ached to touch Simon, hold him close and to shield him from those that would do him harm. When Lady Warren had hired him to protect Simon, he had never suspected that he would need to, like he needed air to breathe. It was liberating and so unbearably suffocating.

They were just coming up to Markus’ bedroom when they saw Mrs. Williams round the corner, clutching something in her hands. “Good morning, Lord Warren,” she greeted and turned to look at Markus, “Mr. Manfred,” he added, coming to a stop in front of them. “I have a letter for you,” she said holding the letter out to Markus, much to his surprise. He had not once received correspondence during his time in the Warren estate given that very few people knew he had taken up residence there, unless word had begun to spread.

Markus took the letter as Simon watched. Markus did not miss the look of curiosity barely disguised in his otherwise mild expression. “Thank you, Mrs. Williams,” Markus said and she nodded and turned to leave, once again leaving Simon and Markus to their own devices. 

Turning his attention to the note, Markus unfolded it. The letter was a short one and it turned his bones cold.

The letter went on to give the name of the desired location and time and it was all Markus could do to keep from visibly reacting. The letter was unsigned and the handwriting was unfamiliar, which concerned Markus; but, it drew to mind Constable Stern, whom he did not know the hand of, and who suspected not only him, but Simon as well. The fact that the letter seemed to refer to Simon was more than a little worrying. The only other people Markus might concern himself with were illiterate, to the best of his knowledge. Were Ralph possessed of the knowledge of literacy, he would have said so when they crossed paths. Ralph did not brag, but he had always been eager to share his accomplishments. He was even liable to demonstrate them.

“Is something the matter?” Simon asked, dragging Markus’ attention from the letter rather abruptly. Markus swallowed and shook his head, conscious now that he had spent some time in complete silence. 

“No,” he said quickly, folding the letter up again. “No, not at all,” he said with a smile that he hoped reached his eyes. Simon did not seem convinced. “Carl requested my presence this evening. With your permission, I would accept the invitation.”

“Oh,” Simon said. Markus couldn’t help but feel scrutinised by the way in which Simon seemed to be watching him. “Yes, of course,” Simon said obligingly, albeit with some measure of reluctance. “You’re sure everything is alright?”

“Yes,” Markus said, hating how forced his smile felt and the way Simon’s expression seemed less and less unconcerned the more they spoke. “Yes, Carl just wants to discuss a few somewhat urgent legal matters.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “I see,” Simon said after a pregnant pause. “Then I shan't keep you from your business,” he told Markus, who was glad that Simon could find no other reason to press the issue. 

Markus forced himself to relax. “A moment,” he said, before turning to his room and entering briefly to toss the letter into the drawer of his bedside table. He turned to see Simon watching from the doorway. Markus gave him a tentative smile before rejoining him in the hallway and closing his bedroom door. Wordlessly, the pair made their way down to the grand staircase only to stop mid-way upon hearing a carriage rolling up to the front door. 

Markus watched as Avery crossed the foyer and opened the doors wide, ready to welcome their guests. Simon had only just begun to move again when a figure, small and spritely came running into the room amid calls to mind her manners. “Cousin Daniel, cousin Daniel!” the girl shouted, a wide smile spread across her eager freckled face. 

Not a moment later the doors to Daniel’s office flew open and Daniel was rushing forwards, ducking to take the girl into his arms as she flung herself at him with an enthusiasm Markus had never seen directed at Daniel before. “Emma!” Daniel cried, picking her up to spin her around in their embrace. She giggled in delight briefly before she was set upon the ground again, safe and sound. “It has been too long,” Daniel continued, with his hands on her shoulders, apparently inspecting her. “I think you’ve grown taller,” he observed with a chuckle.

“I have,” she said with a grin. “Mother measured me this morning.”

The child-like pride in her voice was enough to make Markus smile. He watched Simon approach the pair with a chuckle. “Cousin Emma,” he greeted, arms wide.

Emma embraces Simon with a smile. “Cousin Simon!” she greeted eagerly. Simon distracted her long enough for Daniel to walk over to a large console table, whereupon the portrait he’d had commissioned sat, obscured by a sheet. Ignoring it for now, Daniel opened a drawer and retrieved a small paper bag. 

“Emma,” Daniel called, turning the young girl’s attention back toward him. She approached as he returned to her side, meeting him halfway. “I have a small gift for you,” he told her, and handed her the bag.

She grinned, opening the bag. “Oh!” she delighted, reaching into the bag and pulling free a small collection of ribbons. “Oh, they’re beautiful!” it was difficult for Markus to see from that distance, but if Markus had to guess, he would guess at five ribbons. He could see green, pink, white and purple ribbons, but couldn’t quite make out the rest. “Oh, Daniel, please put this ribbon in my hair, please!” she urged, pulling the white ribbon from the bunch. She marvelled at her gifts Daniel did as he was bid and tied the ribbon to the end of her braid, gently chiding her to stay still as he did so. “It goes ever so well with my dress,” she continued, waiting patiently for Daniel to tie the bow. It was certainly true that the ribbon would compliment her powder blue dress.

Markus witnessed Lady Warren emergee from a hallway below and their guests - the Phillips - finally made their appearance, entering the threshold of the foyer. “Oh, my darling Caroline,” Lady Warren said with a smile. The ladies embraced, briefly, but amicably but soon separated as manners dictated. “It’s so wonderful of you to visit,” Lady Warren continued, drawing Lady Phillips and her husband into conversation. “You must tell me all about Brighton.”

For a time Markus could only watch, almost as if he were afraid his moving would disrupt the mood of the house. It was the liveliest Markus had ever seen it, at least in any positive sense. Even Lady Warren looked happy. She crooned over Emma from a distance and her mother Caroline, whom Markus now realised was Lady Warren’s sister, extolled Emma’s virtue’s and most recent accomplishments.

It wasn’t until Markus spied young Miss Williams and her mother hovering nearby the servant’s corridor that Markus moved, making his way as unobtrusively as possible over to the ladies. Kara offered him a gentle smile as he took his place beside her. “I love it when Emma comes to visit,” Kara told Markus secretively. “Daniel always seems so happy.”

Markus nodded, eyes wandering between Simon and Daniel. Emma had Daniel by the hands now and was regaling him with stories of her last trip into town and the fact that her father promised to take her riding in the country the following weekend. Daniel watched, smiling indulgently all the way, but soon, he was glancing behind him, toward the painting. “Emma,” he urged gently. “You must see what else I have for you,” he told her. She made a sound of interest as Daniel turned to the group at large. “Ladies, gentlemen,” he called, drawing everyone’s attention to him. Soon, conversation petered off and Daniel was forced to release Emma’s hand as he moved to the painting. “Before we progress any further with the evening, I would like to show Emma her gift,” he announced. Together, the group moved forward. Even Lady Warren seemed interested. Clearly, she had either opted to remain in the dark, or had been forbidden to see it. 

Emma rushed forward to Daniel’s side. “Oh, can I?” she said, reaching for the sheet. “Please?”

Daniel held out his hand to stop her, clearly mindful that she might potentially cause harm to the painting. “Together,” he said, and guided her hand toward the top corner of the portrait as he took hold of the other. “One,” he counted. “Two,” he said, and Emma jumped onto her toes excitedly. “Three,” Daniel finished, and together they removed the sheet, amid utterances of approval amongst the guests. 

Emma immediately dropped the sheet with a gasp, “Oh, Daniel it’s the best thing ever!” she said, edging closer to the painting to get a better look.

Daniel coaxed her to the side so that she did not block the view of the portrait for the others. Emma's arms immediately wrapped around Daniel’s own, holding him close. “Do you love it, cousin Emma?”

“I do,” Emma said eagerly, grinning up at her beloved cousin. “I do, Daniel, it’s beautiful,” she added. Markus could not see the finer points of the painting, but Daniel sat in a large, comfortable armchair whilst Emma sat on a cushioned stool just to his right, a little further in the foreground. Her hand was utop Daniel’s upturned palm where it rested on the arm of the chair. Their hands loosely clasped together. Daniel’s legs were crossed and his free hand rested in his lap with what appeared to be a book clasped within. Both seemed quite jovial. “You see, I was right to tell the painter it was better to hold hands!”

“What brilliant work,” John, Lord Phillips, said off to the side. “Well worth the wait,” he said, and his wife nodded agreeably. 

“We should have another one done when I’m older,” Emma said eagerly, tugging on Daniel’s arm. “Next year, or oh,” She said, stopping herself abruptly as a thought occurred to her. “Maybe we can have one done when we get married!”

For his part, Daniel looked amused, but resigned, as if he had heard her say such things before. “I am sure you will make a fine wife, Emma,” he told her, indulgently, albeit firmly. Her parents looked a mixture of fond and exasperated. “But, I think, to a man closer to your own age.”

“You say that every time!”

“And every time it remains true,” Daniel explained, taking her hand in his and patting it reassuringly. “I’ll get older too and you won’t like me nearly as much when I begin to look like a prune.”

Emma tutted. “Daniel, you won’t get all wrinkly,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Beside them, Simon scoffed in amusement, “well, he had better die young, then,” he mumbled to which Emma gasped and turned to him, placing her hands upon her hips sternly.

“Cousin Simon,” she admonished firmly. “You take that back, right now,” she said, her expression set in a firm pout. 

Simon raised his hands defensively. “I do,” he said. “Of course, I do,” he said again and she relaxed slightly. “I love my brother as much as you,” he told her. For her part, Emma seemed unconvinced, but was content to nod and forgive her mischievous cousin.

“I _ doubt _that,” she said in the most superior tone she could manage.

That seemed to draw chuckles from everyone in the room. “I do too,” Simon admitted quietly, smiling. “You make a strong case,” he told Emma, who smiled victoriously.

“I do,” she said, and then glanced around. “Now, where is Alice?”

Beside him, Alice seemed to draw into herself, her hands clasped in front of her nervously as she huddled a little closer to her mother’s side, nervous of the inevitable attention she was about to receive. Mrs. Williams put a hand on her back reassuringly. “She’s here,” Kara announced, leading her daughter into the foyer. From here, Markus could see the violet ribbon in Alice’s ponytail, straight and pristine. Markus dared hazard that it was new, much like Emma’s own. 

Emma hurried to Alice’s side and took her companion by the hand, already leading her away. “Come on, Alice,” she urged. Alice followed obediently, and the pair disappeared further into the house, toward the gardens.

“Well,” Daniel said after a brief moment of silence that fell when the girls departed. “Tea has been prepared in the garden if we would all like to take Emma and Alice’s lead,” he said with a smile. Together the adults meandered towards the garden. All except Simon who lagged behind. Kara spared Markus a smile before she turned and disappeared back into the servant’s corridor, leaving Simon and Markus alone.

Stepping up to Simon’s side, Markus watched him watch the retreating backs of his party, smiling wistfully. “You know,” Simon said almost too softly. “I think she might be the only thing he loves more than me,” he said, attention drifting to the portrait in the room.

“You think so?” Markus asked, to which Simon nodded, resolutely.

“You should have seen him when Emma was introduced to the world,” Simon began, his smile fond. “The Phillips threw a party after she was born,” Simon explained, turning to Markus, who cautiously took Simon’s hand into his own. “When he held her, he was loath to put her down,” Simon chuckled and Markus smiled, too enamoured with the sound to speak. “You should have seen the young ladies fawn over him,” Simon continued. Markus could imagine it, a gentleman so taken with children that he could hardly bear to part from them. “I suspect they all wanted to marry him then and there,” he said, and his smile turned sad. “It’s a wonder he isn’t already married.”

“There’s always time,” Markus said, lifting Simon’s hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. “But you should go to your guests,” Markus said. Reluctant as he was to let Simon go, he did. 

Simon nodded, spared him a smile, and left.

* * *

Thank you so much to **Triggered_Lizard** for this gorgeous piece of fan art inspired by Chapter Seventeen. I'm so flattered and thankful: 

By Our Own **Triggered_Lizard**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know sometimes these things can feel uncomfortable, but kids ALWAYS think they're going to marry their favourite person (in my experience). Talk about it all the time. I personally, thought it was a silly cute thing. I just hope I didn't upset anyone with it. If I did, I apologise.


	23. The Excruciating Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Markus, with no other choice, wiles away the hours with Kara and his own mind for company, until it comes time to answer the call of the mysterious letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the long wait. As this thing is starting to draw to a close I'm finding it harder and harder to crank chapters out, mostly because I want to do it justice, especially after so long.

The rest of the day wore on in something of a haze, somewhere between anxiety and impatience. Markus found himself unable to concentrate on the book in his hands, his eyes drifting from the page and across the kitchen from where he sat at the servant’s dining table until his eye landed upon the other occupant in the room. Mrs. Williams stood with her back to him, absent-mindedly drying dishes with the dishcloth in her hands as she gazed out of the window into the garden beyond. Alice and Emma could be heard giggling as Daniel ran after them both in a friendly game of chase across the grounds in the distance. Markus could see the gazebo where Simon sat with a small reserved smile on his face, commanding the attention of the rest of the party as he spoke.

It was so strange to see Simon so comfortable, particularly in the presence of his mother, who laughed delightedly at a quip her son had made. He had never seen her quite so relaxed. Mrs. Williams sighed and drew Markus’ attention away from the party in the garden.

“Mrs. Williams?” Markus asked, curiously. “Are you alright?”

She glanced at him over her shoulder for a moment and then turned back to the window for a moment longer before she put her towel down on the edge of the sink and turned to face Markus properly. “I’m quite alright,” she answered with a fair smile. “It’s only that it’s been a while since I saw my Alice so happy,” she explained, seeming disappointed in herself. “She’s so quiet I might find it cause for concern, but...” the rest of her sentences lingered unsaid on the tip of her tongue and she shook her head dismissively. “I know she is reserved by nature, of course.”

It didn’t take long for Markus to realise where Mrs. Williams’ concern lay. “Does she not express herself?”

Mrs. Williams, for her part, seemed shame-faced but grateful that Markus appeared to have guessed at the matter correctly. She hesitated and then shook her head. “Not as much as I might like.”

Frankly, Markus had little enough experience with children, having dealt only with workhouse children in the days of his youth, but if it was advice about children Mrs. Williams sought he was probably not the person to go to. “Perhaps Lord Warren might be a more appropriate person to talk to,” Markus suggested. “I know little of children.”

Mrs. Williams seemed surprised by the notion. “Lord Warren,” she repeated, ponderously, her gaze drifting to the side thoughtfully, although her face twisted in uncertainty. The idea that she might talk to her employer about her child seemed not to have crossed her mind and given her station, likely wondered if it was even appropriate. The answer, of course, was that it was not.

“It seems he has at least a little experience with young children,” Markus said, thinking of Emma. He drew her attention back to him as he chuckled to himself. “When I first arrived, I would never have accused Lord Warren of being one to play with children,” he explained upon noticing Mrs. Williams’ curious expression.

“Yes,” she agreed but smiled fondly. “He is rather...”

“Full of surprises,” he finished for her. It seemed nigh inconceivable that such a surly individual might have a soft spot for children.

“Exactly,” Mrs. Williams said, nodding. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she explained, and Markus raised an eyebrow, silently urging her to continue. “She was born under this roof, you know,” she said, smiling a little. “Not long after young Miss Emma. He has watched her grow all these years and been so terribly kind to us both.”

“How so?” he couldn’t help but ask, recalling that Lord Warren had threatened her job not so long ago. Frankly, her admiration for him had seemed almost entirely baseless until now, though it had not been his place to question it.

Mrs. Williams hesitated, appearing uncomfortable - so much so that Markus thought to retract the question, but before he could, Mrs. Williams spoke. “Promise you won’t judge?” she asked softly, more uncertain than Markus had ever seen her.

“I promise I won’t,” Markus replied immediately, his voice gentle and smile earnest. “After everything that has happened since I came into this house, I consider you a great friend, Kara,” he told her, offering surety when she had none. “I hope that you feel the same about me.”

Slowly, she nodded and took a breath, before continuing. “In all honesty, Markus,” she began, gathering her courage to continue. “My family was struggling when I discovered that the Warrens were in the market for a new head of housekeeping,” she explained. “My husband lost his job, you see,” she admitted, appearing somewhat embarrassed to admit such a thing. Markus merely nodded and silently coaxed her to continue wordlessly. “I decided when I applied myself for the position that I would be forthright with my potential employer. After all, any lies I told would not serve me later.”

When it became apparent that Mrs. Williams was unsure how to continue her confession, Markus spoke. “What happened?” Markus prompted, gently. Truth be told he was quite interested to hear the rest of the tale. He knew so little of Mrs. Williams, it felt like a rare opportunity he had to take advantage of.

“Well, I attended the interview,” Mrs Williams continued, taking a moment to find her voice again. “I expected to be faced with the Steward of the house, but...Mr. Brinkley did not conduct the interview.”

A curiosity in and of itself. “So then, who did?”

“A young Lord Daniel,” she said, looking as surprised as he felt as she reflected upon the memory.

“Not his father?”

Mrs. Williams shook her head, once again becoming her usual, subdued self. “He had recently passed, though I did not know it until he told me so,” she explained away, her hand raised in a reassuring motion. “He intimated to me that he wanted to conduct preliminary interviews for the new hires and refer them on to the staff if they met his expectations.”

“And clearly you did,” Markus said with a smile.

Mrs. Williams shared the look, and continued. “I did,” she said. “Although I admit to being quite shocked to have done so.”

“You expected your commitment to honesty would not yield desirable results,” Markus said as the thought occurred to him, to which Mrs Williams nodded.

“You see, I was already expecting my Alice,” she told him. It was not so unusual for ladies to work when they were in the family way, but Markus could understand why deception would not have done Mrs. Williams any good. “And when I explained my situation, I-”

Mrs. Williams’ sudden silence was jarring when she had been conversing so easily. It occurred to Markus that Mrs. Williams always spoke so highly of Lord Warren and knowing that he accepted her into his employ, quite aware of her condition, spoke volumes. That was why the sudden silence baffled him so. “Kara, are you alright?” Markus watched as Kara seemed to sink into herself, drawing her hands together and interlacing her fingers, nervously, ducking her head. “Kar-”

“He um,” she interrupted, although it did not appear she meant to insult him by doing so. She seemed so concerned with her hands. “He used to beat me,” she said. “My husband,” she clarified a moment later, quelling Markus’ rising rage. For a single instant Markus had thought she meant Lord Daniel and given his temper, Markus might not have put it past him. Of course, knowing how soft-hearted Daniel could be, it would be hard to imagine Daniel would intentionally hurt anyone. That said, Markus was well enough aware of Daniel’s terrible moods. Markus had seen the damage he could inflict when he was enraged. “When I realised I was having a baby, I ran,” she admitted, her lip quivering.

It was no wonder that Markus had not seen hide nor hair of Mr. Williams, or even heard him spoken of. Then, of course, it dawned on Markus why it was that Mrs. Williams adored Lord Daniel, despite his short-comings. “He took you in,” Markus said, quite unable to keep the surprise out of his tone. Frankly, such an act demanded respect, if nothing else.

“He protects us,” she said, nodding. He watched her take a deep, calming breath and raise her head as she wiped newly fallen tears from her eyes. She sniffled and took a moment to collect herself. “I apologise.”

“No, of course,” Markus said, standing. “Forgive me, I never meant to dredge up painful memories...” he said as he stepped around the table to come to her side. “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone you are here,” besides, he was less than impressed with the law at present and he was not about to condemn such a fine woman as Mrs. Williams to an abusive marriage. Markus placed a comforting hand on her arm, and smiled gingerly. “He really is one to defy expectation, is he not?”

That made Kara laugh. It was a sweet sound that reminded Markus of wind chimes. “Yes, indeed,” she giggled. “Quite often,” she said, and Markus was pleased to have cheered her up some. “I daresay he has done so more regularly since your arrival here,” she said, giving Markus a somewhat enigmatic look, although Markus saw no hint of malice in her eyes.

It was strange to think that Markus had set anything at all in motion, but he had to admit that he had seen great changes in Daniel’s seemingly unpleasant and sometimes downright cruel demeanour. The biggest change Markus had seen was in Simon, who smiled and laughed with greater intensity than he had when they met. He was reserved still, but much more open. It seemed clear to Markus that if Daniel was different it was because Simon’s mood had improved. If Markus had indeed facilitated a change of any kind, he was glad to have attributed to that one.

By now, the sky was starting to darken by the early late afternoon as the winter sun began to fall and the beginnings of a sunset formed over the horizon. Looking out the window, Markus watched Simon call to his brother, who gently corralled the children back indoors. Kara’s attention was drawn to the clock. “Oh my,” she said, mindful now of the time. “I must fetch Grace,” she said, turning to look at Markus. “Do excuse me, it’s time to begin dinner,” she explained, to which Markus nodded. “Would you call Alice for me?”

“Of course,” Markus said with a slight bow. “Allow me to get out of your hair,” he said, backing out of the room as Kara left the room in search of the cook. No doubt the kitchen would be alive with movement shortly and it would not do for Markus to be in the way.

Ascending the servant’s stairs, Markus lingered at the edge of the corridor leading to the foyer as the Warrens and their guests meandered past, making their way to the parlour. Markus did his best to remain as unobtrusive as possible, but when Simon trailed past, Markus couldn’t help but admire him as he chuckled at something young Emma said as she was led by Daniel, he had her hand in his, into the parlour. As if sensing eyes on him Simon stopped, and Alice, who had been trailing behind drew up next to him and followed his gaze.

Smiling, Markus approached as the other hosts and their guests disappeared into the parlour. “Forgive me for interrupting,” Markus said, continuing only when Simon nodded for him to do so. He knew he was free to be more casual with Simon, but knowing that his family was in the other room, Markus dared not risk it, lest it raise questions. The last thing Markus needed was for their familiarity to be seen as inappropriate. Markus could not lose his job if he wanted to stay with Simon for as long as he was able. “Mrs. Williams asked me to collect Miss Alice,” he said gently, offering Alice a sympathetic smile when she frowned and glanced over her shoulder, doubtlessly wishing to remain in Emma’s company just a little longer. “I believe she has duties to attend to.”

“Oh, I see,” Simon said, also looking at Alice. “Emma will be disappointed, but I expect she’ll be more than happy to play with you again after dinner, Alice,” he told her, giving her enough hope that she nodded, curtsied a little and dashed off without another word.

For a moment, they stood in awkward silence, watching one another. In their own private thoughts wishing to close the gap between them, touch or speak freely as they had had the luxury of doing before. Three feet felt like a mile. “Will you be taking your leave soon?” Simon asked, finally finding something to say, much to Markus’ relief. He did not want to part from Simon yet.

“Not for a few more hours,” Markus responded. By the time he left, the Warrens would be taking dinner with their guests and Simon would be safely in the company of his family. Markus could account for his whereabouts and know he would not run into trouble if he were to venture to his mistress’ home.

Again a silence fell over them and Markus couldn’t help but take in every feature of Simon’s face. The note he had received weighed heavily on his mind and the ominous nature of it all made Markus feel as if he might never see Simon again. If this was to be their last moment together, Markus wanted to remember it all.

“Will you be taking dinner with Mr. Manfred?” Simon questioned gently, and for a moment Markus almost forgot his lie, lost in thought as he was.

“Oh,” he said, after floundering or a moment. “Oh, yes...I won’t be back until quite late this evening,” if he came back at all, he thought grimly.

Simon nodded once in understanding. “Very well,” he said, glancing over his shoulder towards the parlour. Both men were running out of excuses to linger. After a moment, Simon took a tentative step forward and leaned forward, opening his mouth as if to speak. He visibly hesitated and took a step back, holding his hands behind his back. “Do...excuse me,” Simon said, giving Markus one last lingering look before he turned and left. In the parlour, Markus heard Lord Phillips’ pleased exclamation of his nephew finally joining them.

Tempted as he was to peer into the room just to spend a little more time simply watching his lover enjoying himself, Markus chose not to linger and instead chose to while away the last few hours of pace he had in his bedroom, attempting to read a book. It occurred to him several times over the course of a few hours how often he had read the same page or the same sentence far too many times, barely remembering a moment of it. His mind lingered on whatever it could have been that Simon had wanted to say and the note that lay on the bed, abandoned at his feet. When he glanced at the clock and discovered it neared the appointed time for his meeting, Markus scrambled to his feet and threw on his coat and hat and stepped into the corridor.

As he turned to leave, Markus paused. He felt naked and the danger of his situation was not lost on him. People who meant no harm did not leave mysterious and threatening notes. If the note he suspected had been left by Connor was any indication, whatever Markus was in for likely wasn’t a friendly chat. So, Markus turned on his heels and hurried to Simon’s room. He did not hesitate to step inside and go to the bedside table.

The gun was exactly where it had been before. Markus, not entirely familiar with the weapon, fumbled with it for a moment, and struggled to load it, though he eventually did so. He tucked the weapon into one of his coat pockets and a handful of ammunition into the other, in case he found himself without and in need.

The weight of the gun in his pocket offered him no more comfort than the weightlessness before, but he was at least somewhat assured in the knowledge that he would have some means of coming home to Simon. Markus took a deep, shaky breath to soothe his nervousness, Markus turned and left the room.

By now the sky was well and truly dark, starless and so cold Markus could see his breath on the wind. A fact that had Markus wishing he could turn back as he slipped out of the manor’s front doors and into the night. Despite his grim mood however, he couldn’t help but hope Simon wouldn’t suffer another sleepless night due to his poor health. The location specified in the letter was, thankfully not far from the manor, which was something Markus could use to his advantage if necessary.

When he arrived on the street, his pace slowed and he peered around corners as he passed by the narrow alleys. The streetlamps flickered faintly, casing the street in a dim light that seemed barely enough to light Markus’ way.

Soon, Markus was forced to draw to a stop, outside the alley specified in the letter. He steeled himself when he saw no-one was yet waiting for him and felt for a moment as though he had the upper hand for once; although he did not know exactly how. When he did, however, a figure stepped around the corner on the far side of the alley. Markus recognised the tall, lanky figure of Ralph even before he stepped into the faint light proud by the street lamps beyond. There was no way he could have missed the blade in Ralph’s hand as he caught the light.

Markus felt his blood run cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fudge that was a hard one to write. I'm so sorry for the long wait, but I hope it was at least somewhat worth it. Because the whole chapter was basically a waiting game, I found the pacing so difficult to deal with because I didn't want it to drag, but also, I didn't want it to be boring as heck...so I hope I achieved at least something resembling that.
> 
> Thank you, everyone who has commented and offered kudos, your support means the world and honestly is the driving force behind all this. I definitely would not have gotten so far without you.


	24. In the Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head and Markus fears for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, and I do have to warn you about the highly racist vibes in this chapter and I henceforth apologise. 
> 
> I have been so excited for this chapter for a long time so I'm dying to know what you all think.

Markus barely took half a step back from Ralph before he felt a hand on his back. Tense, Markus lurched forward away from the touch and whirled around to face the assailant behind him. At first Markus was met with a chest and a glance upward quickly determined the identity of the other person to be that of Ralph’s new American friend, Tucker. 

“Hello, Friend,” Tucker said, with his usual saccharine smile. Tucker stepped forward, shoving Markus back a few steps, toward the centre of the alley and Ralph, himself. “You just got here. You’re not leaving already are you?”

With both exits to the alley being blocked, Markus doubted he would be going anywhere anytime soon. “I wouldn’t be so rude,” Markus said, turning a little and looking between Ralph and Tucker as they closed in on him. “But I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting you,” he told them and they shared a glance briefly, but neither seemed particularly bothered by the notion. The streets beyond the alley sounded as yet deserted. Perhaps, Markus thought, he could keep them talking long enough for him to attract attention if he heard movement.

“Surprise,” Ralph said, throwing his hands up with a flourish, though he kept hold of the knife in his hand. “Ralph’s only sorry we never got the chance to talk more before all this,” he told Markus, drawing to a stop. Markus spared Tucker another glance. He, too, had ceased his advance. Chancing a look behind them both, Markus noticed he was further from the exits than he would have liked to be. “But you made our employer angry,” Ralph whined, pouting. “And you made Ralph angry too,” he explained. “So Ralph doesn’t mind.”

It took Markus more than a moment, in his panic, to recall just who it was that Ralph was talking about. But, when it came to him, he felt somewhere between anger and confusion. How could she have known? They had been so careful. Of course, in the interest of delaying the inevitable, Markus swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. “How could I have made you angry?” he asked, turning again to look at Tucker, who Markus was relieved to find still had drawn no weapon. Tucker was built like a stone wall and it seemed to Markus like he hardly needed one.

Ralph scoffed. “You think Ralph forgot?” he prompted. “You were in that house too,” he continued, tone darkening. “Ralph saw you slip out the window when the pigs came,” he snapped. “You little rat,” he said, lunging forward enough that Markus stepped back into Tucker again, who unceremoniously shoved him forward, putting Ralph uncomfortably close. “You should have helped Ralph,” he shouted, and Markus winced. As a child, Ralph’s temper had frightened him, so it was no surprise Ralph could have corralled him into doing almost anything. “Seven years in Australia you cost me,” Ralph said, pointing the tip of his blade at Markus’ mid-section. “Then I find out you got cosy with some geezer.”

“That’s not my fault-” Markus said, albeit with some guilt. Maybe he could have stopped Ralph getting transported, but he had to admit that a large part of himself wanted to see the back of Ralph, regardless of how long they had known one another. “I was ten, what was I supposed to do?” He asked, more than a little irate even through his fear. “Hang?” Ralph had been in Australia at the time, but no doubt he had heard tell of what happened to Markus when he returned. The day he had tried to steal from Carl had been one he would never forget. Carl had been younger than, but sharper than Markus had given him credit for. He caught Markus with his hand in Carl’s pocket and when he spoke it had not been to call for the police, but to ask his name. He had to admit, he’d followed Carl home that day out of not only fear but curiosity. If at any point Markus had felt in danger, he kept a knife in his coat like Ralph had taught him.

As far as he knew, that knife was still lost somewhere in the recesses of Carl’s home, forgotten. He wished he had it now.

“Ralph just doesn’t understand,” he said with a frown. “Why he would take someone like you in,” he said, looking Markus up and down, gaze lingering a little to look on Markus’ face, although he wasn’t looking Markus in the eye. Ralph was looking at his skin. Markus’ lips thinned. “Like a ward, too...” Ralph continued, embittered. Of course Ralph would be frustrated that Markus had made a better life for himself, but it irked Markus that so many people thought that because of his colouring that it was his lot to suffer; that he was expected to suffer in place of more ‘worthy’ people. 

Outrage caught up to Ralph and he moved. Reflexively, Markus moved to meet him, striking Ralph in the nose with a fist halting the path of the knife with the shock of the impact. Ralph stumbled back before his knife could do more than graze Markus’ side. Markus’ knuckles ached with the impact and his ribs stung.

Markus, having forgotten about Tucker in that moment, found himself being seized from behind and thrust into the wall of the alley. Tucker delivered a blow to Markus’ stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Behind them, Ralph cursed, clutching his face. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, friend,” Tucker said, taking Markus by the collar of his shirt. “I would have liked to know you better.”

Markus clutched at Tucker’s wrist, forcing air back into his lungs. “Me too,” Markus rasped, raising a knee sharply between Tucker’s legs, forcing Tucker to stumble away in pain. Markus took the opportunity to knock Tucker off his feet with a sweep of his feet. Tucker crumbled. 

Too late did Markus notice Ralph who tackled him to the ground with a shout. Markus’ head hit the cobblestone and pain erupted in his temple. Ralph shifted on top of him, and Markus had barely rolled onto his back before he was reaching up and struggling to hold back the knife that had come down onto him. Above him, Ralph tried desperately to overpower Markus. “I hate you!” Ralph shouted childishly as the knife inched closer and closer to Markus’ neck. Markus was too concerned with his current predicament to respond. 

When Markus realised he could not push Ralph off him, he grit his teeth and pushed the knife to one side, away from his body. When he did that, he bucked and threw Ralph off-kilter enough that Markus could take Ralph’s knife-hand and slam it into the stone beneath him. Ralph scrambled to right himself but Markus rolled onto his side and forced himself up, bashing his shoulder into Ralph’s sternum and knocking Ralph onto his back. 

Markus was on top of him in an instant, once again grabbing his wrist and hammering it into the ground and prying the weapon from his hand. Ralph dropped the knife, pained and Markus blindly threw it to one side.

Then, he found himself on the ground, pain exploding in the side of his face and lip where Tucker had struck him in the face with a booted foot. Markus tasted blood on his tongue and dribbling down his cheek. Markus found himself dizzy with the pain. He was vaguely aware of Ralph scrambling to his feet and toward the knife.

Markus tried to speak, but whatever he said was indecipherable, even to himself as he dazedly reached into his coat pocket, even as he struggled to stand. When he pulled the gun from his pocket, Markus heard Tucker lumbering toward him again. “No you don’t, friend,” He said, and found himself kicked back down onto the cobblestone and before long had a foot on the back of his hand.

Markus cried out, feeling the sole of Tucker’s boot press sharply into his hand and knuckle, crushing them against the stone. His flesh burned and the ache in his joints forced him to release the gun which Tucker promptly kicked the weapon aside with his other foot. 

“So you weren’t stupid enough to come unarmed,” he heard Ralph observe allowed as Tucker hoisted him to his feet and thrust him back into the wall by the neck. Addled, Markus watched Ralph approach, knife in hand, wiping the blood that poured from his nose off his lip with the back of his sleeve.

“...Stop...” Markus managed to say, pushing weakly at Tucker’s arm with his damaged hand and trying to pry his hold away from him with his good hand. “You don’t have to do her will...” he rasped, resisting the urge to swallow the blood pooling in his mouth.

“Ralph isn’t,” Ralph said as he approached. “Ralph is doing his own.”

Markus had always been intimidated by Ralph, who had always had a temper and it was hard enough to shake that childhood fear when he wasn’t in imminent danger, but as it stood now, Markus found himself unable to move, choking and scared. Even in his terror, Markus couldn’t help but think of Simon and that they hadn’t been as careful as he thought, after all. Perhaps he should have told Simon, but to what end? This may very well have been his fate, just as it was soon to be Markus’. 

Ralph adjusted the knife in his grasp and Tucker released Markus, allowing him just a moment to catch his breath before Ralph’s hand was about his neck. Markus tried to raise his arms in defense as Ralph moved to strike.

“Markus!”

There was a familiar voice and a moment later a body between him and the blade, Ralph’s hold on Markus was torn from him and Markus found himself with the weight of a man in his arms. Pained, weak and groaning. The head of blond hair and the voice he could not mistake made no mystery of the identity of his saviour. “Simon!” he shouted, clutching onto his lover, lowering him gently to the ground and propping him upright against the wall as Simon clutched his midriff. He was pale with shock and kneeling beside him, Markus couldn’t help but look up toward Ralph. “What have you done?” he asked, unable to keep his eyes off the bloody blade as he helped Simon apply pressure to Simon’s wound.

For his part, Ralph looked alarmed, his gaze fixed on Simon. “I- I hadn’t meant-” he forced out, and then took several steps back, jaw tightening, frightened and enraged. Ralph had never liked surprises. “_ He’s not supposed to be here _!”

Beside him, Simon struggled to breathe through the pain of his wound and Markus could see distress in Simon’s watery blue eyes, like rain on a lake. Simon clutched onto Markus with his free hand, bloodying his sleeve. “M-Markus,” he said shakily, but that was when Markus realised Simon wasn’t looking at him. 

A moment later, Markus was yanked to his feet and torn from Simon with a cry. Tucker tossed him into the opposite wall of the alley. “Just finish the job,” he said, barely sparing Ralph a glance before he took Markus’ head in his large hands and slammed him face-first into the brick wall in front of him. Markus struggled but could not break free. Ralph only took several steps away from the scene and said nothing. Markus’ face impacted the wall again and Markus anticipated a bloodier death than had been planned for him and moreover, one with collateral damage. Even as Markus felt his skull smash against the wall, dazed and powerless, Markus could think only of Simon, exsanguinated in an alley and left there to be discovered. The indignity of it was more than Markus could bear for the man who had tried to save his life. 

As Markus felt his head drawn back for a third blow, he heard the thundering of a gunshot ring deafening, through the alley, and the hold on him fell away. Markus crumbled to the ground, reeling, unfocused as he turned to watch Tucker waver and topple to the ground like a crumbling building. When he hit the ground, he wheezed and breathed no more. Across the alley, Simon turned the gun in his bloodied hand toward Ralph with rapidly failing strength. Markus crawled toward him even as Ralph turned and fled. Simon fired, too wide a shot, and Ralph escaped them both. 

“Simon,” Markus said, coming to his lover’s side again as he dropped his arm at his side and released the gun. Markus, though he struggled to see with the blood pouring from the wound above his brow, and his head pounding like a drum, fumbled to help Simon apply pressure to his wound.

Simon winced at the touch and made some feeble noise that made Markus ache to comfort him, but he could find no words. Weakly, Simon reached for him again, clutching to him with all that remained of his strength. “Markus,” he whispered. Markus could hear the fear in his voice. “Please,” he begged. “I-I don’t want to die,” he said, and finally his tears fell. “I’m happy, please,” he said again and Markus sat back, ready to take to his feet. “I’m happy,” he added, sorrowfully.

“You…” Markus said, pushing through the nausea of injuries. “You won’t, my heart,” he said softly, albeit urgently. “I’ll get help, just hold on...” he said, reluctant to release his hold on Simon. 

Simon nodded, frantic and afraid. “Please...” his hold on Markus was shaky and he clutched at Markus as though he were made of vapour, impossible to hold.

Swallowing, Markus forced himself away. “Keep pressure on that,” he said, could not even make it to his feet as he fumbled his way toward the entrance of the alley, every inch of distance between himself and Simon feeling like a mile and every breath harder to draw. Markus felt like he would die if he could not save Simon. 

“Help!” he called into the dark city streets of London, illuminated only by the street lamp at the entrance of the alley. He shouted again, and again when nobody came and struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall, woozy and defeated. 

“Help,” he shouted again. “_ Help me! _”

Markus sobbed, hurting and scared.

He called again into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm terrible at fight scenes and if any of you have any tips for it (if you didn't think I did a terribly good job), I'd be glad to take any advice you have t give me!
> 
> Also, if ya'll didn't at least get tear-y eyed I didn't do my job right and you need to tell me how to make you cry, too.
> 
> Fun Fact: apparently theft was treated way more severely than assault (which I had wanted for put Ralph in jail for), but seems to me like the longest prison sentence for assault was like, 6 months. Also, it looks like that was one of the only things people went to jail for at the time (this is set in 1828, jsyk). Everything else pretty much got you hanged or transported. So Ralph was transported for theft and burglary which he'd involved Markus in when he was a kid.
> 
> It was also around this time that Ralph got his facial scars.


	25. The Olive Branch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fortune favours those that shout a lot. An olive branch is extended a more besides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy the chapter. With the holidays approaching, I hope everyone is having the best time they can in these trying times. 2020 going strong.

After a moment of waiting in the deafening silence, Markus conceded defeat and turned to stumble back into the alley and return to Simon’s side, kneeling beside him. When he met Simon’s eyes, he saw fear and understanding, but he saw something else most heartbreaking. Markus saw forgiveness there as well. “Simon...” he said softly, reaching to cup Simon’s cheek in his frigid hand. He did not deserve the look Simon was giving him. Simon had come to find him and Markus had put him in harm’s way. 

Markus again arrived at the conclusion that if he had said something, he might have been able to spare Simon this. But no, Markus’ fear of discovery and putting Simon in the path of the law had kept him from telling a truth that may have saved them both. 

“Markus,” Simon said quietly as if trying to preserve his energy, releasing a hand from his abdomen in order to reach into the inner pocket of his dinner jacket - which only now did Markus realise he was still wearing - Simon had never even bothered to put on a coat before leaving the manor. “You have to go,” he wished. Naturally, Markus was flawed by the notion.

For a moment, Markus struggled to find the words he was looking for, and ultimately settled on the most direct thing he could think of. “What?” he blurted out, shocked.

“If they find you here,” Simon began, pulling something from his pocket. Even in the dim light, Markus recognised it to be Lord Byron’s book of poetry. “You’ll surely hang,” he told Markus, to whom the thought had never occurred. Of course, Markus realised. A black man in an alley with two deceased white men, one of whom was clearly a gentleman would see Markus facing the noose, for sure. “You must...” Simon said, with a little more urgency. “You must go...”

“No,” Markus said, shakily. Frankly, his love for Simon kept the fear of their discovery at bay better than anything else ever could, yet the idea that he could be blamed for the death of the one he loved most ardently in this world made Markus want to do exactly as he was told. Yet, he found he could not. “No,” he said again, more firmly. “I can explain,” he said again. “I  _ will _ explain.”

Simon swallowed. “Take this,” he said, wincing a little as Markus moved to place both his hands over Simon’s wound, adding pressure to it. “I-I want to be with you,” he confessed, and Markus was unable to keep Simon from slipping the book into the inner pocket of his own jacket lest he release pressure on Simon’s injury. “Go now and I will be with you always,” he whispered. 

Tears fell unbidden as Markus shook his head. “Someone will come,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Someone has to come...” he said, although Simon could see Markus was not speaking to him.

Simon glanced down, watching Markus’ hands tremble against his blood-soaked clothes. The abrasion on Markus’ head made him look pale with fear and injury. “I am happy,” Simon said, voice trembling. Markus let out some heart-wrenching strangled noise, but Simon pressed on. “Go-”

“Hello there!” A voice called, in the direction of the street. 

Markus’ head whipped around so hastily he lost his balance and fumbled to press his hands back onto Simon’s wounds, having lost his hold when he tumbled dizzily to the side. “Here,” Markus shouted “Here, please!”

Moments later, the silhouette of a man came into view and Markus could not make out his features until he drew closer, hurriedly after taking a look at the scene before him. “What the fuck happened here?” the man asked, eyes lingering on the lifeless body laying in the middle of the alley. He was a gruff-looking man, with dark hair and eyes and most notably a scar decorating the bridge of his nose. His clothes were not very fine.

“I was accosted,” Markus explained. “Please, help me take him to a doctor, I will explain on the way.”

Without wasting a moment, the man nodded and hurried to help both men to their feet. Markus stumbled but was able to help the gentleman carry Simon out of the alley flinging on of his arms over each of their shoulders. Markus tried to keep pressure on the wound.

The movement of course, distressed Simon greatly, who sucked in a pained breath, no doubt trying to remain calm.

“I know a place near here,” the man explained. “Closer than the doctor, but she’s no professional,” he told Markus, who nodded. “I don’t think he’ll make it to a doctor.”

“Anything, anyone will do,” Markus said. Simon had to live. “He is a gentleman,” Markus told the man, who gave him an indecipherable look. Markus suspected he was less than pleased than to have the life of a gentleman thrust upon him. Their rescuer was not wealthy and if Simon were to die it might cause him more trouble than it was worth.

They went to a house two streets over, small and unassuming but had a sign above the door. An apothecary. Together, they drew Simon up the stairs and their savior banged a fist upon the door several times. “Lucy!” He shouted in his gruff and impatient voice. “Lucy, open up!” He did not cease his urgent knocking until he saw light illuminating the hallway through the small, clouded glass window set in the door. “Lucy!”

There was the sound of a lock being unfastened and moments later the door swung open. The woman who answered had the darkest eyes Markus had ever seen, like pools of liquid onyx and skin darker than his own. “Upstairs,” she said with an authority that surprised Markus. He might have expected some shock from such a petite woman, but received none. “Quickly now,” she said, stepping aside and allowing all three gentleman inside. By now, Simon was struggling to remain awake and Markus’ head still throbbed. 

The door was closed and locked behind them, and the man who had saved them seemed to know his way around, leading them upstairs as directed and through to a simply decorated room. Markus and Simon were led to an unassuming bed by the window in the corner of the room, side which was an already lit oil-lamp upon a bedside table that had seen better days. 

The woman - Lucy - appeared in the doorway and approached the wounded pair. “Tell me,” she said, gesturing at Simon.

“Stabbed,” Markus said quickly, making sure Simon was laid flat as he pulled up Simon’s side to reveal the wound. “Can you help him?”

Lucy leaned forward and examined the laceration briefly. “I can,” she told Markus, whose sudden influx of relief made him dizzy. “Can you wait?” she said, gesturing to Markus’ head wound. 

“Yes,” he replied to her retreating back. Apparently, she was more concerned with Simon, for which Markus was grateful. 

Whilst she was gone, Markus held pressure on Simon’s wound, but looked toward the man who had discovered them. As it transpired, Markus had neglected to inform him of the situation, but the man had never pressed for details, either. “Thank you,” Markus began. “Mister…?”

“Reed,” he said from his position on the opposite side of the room. “Gavin Reed.”

Markus could see that Mister Reed was tense, although he affected a kind of nonchalance in the way he leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. When he opened his mouth, feeling the need to fill the silence with the long-awaited explanation, Markus was surprised to find himself interrupted. 

“Mr. Reed,” Simon said softly from his place on the bed, his breathing, though harsh, had evened out somewhat now he was able to rest. “Will you fetch the police here, please...?” He asked tentatively through the pain. “Anyone you can find. You will of course be...compensated for your help, sir.”

For his part, Mr. Reed did not look overly impressed with the request. Markus supposed Mr. Reed was not fond of the police. He did however, seem to look past his distaste at the notion of being paid. “Fine,” he said, righting himself. “And I want that explanation.”

“Of- of course,” Markus nodded, haltingly. “Later.”

Mr. Reed nodded jerkily, but exited the room as Lucy made her reappearance, medical supplies in hand. Simon found himself supposed with a generous amount of laudanum before Lucy set about her work cleaning and stitching the wound. At some point, despite the pain relief, Simon lost consciousness, no doubt the exhaustion and blood loss had caught up to him. When Markus panicked, Lucy settled his nerves with a few well-placed comments, and Markus continued to watch her work, nerves of a razor’s edge. 

“Thank you,” Markus said with relief when Lucy had finished wrapping Simon’s wounds and had begun treating his own head wound. He had stopped feeling discombobulated, but he did feel woozy and tired. Lucy had been encouraging him not to fall to sleep for some time. Until his worry for Simon had been keeping him awake, but now that his fears had been assuaged somewhat, Markus found it difficult to keep his eyes open. “I-” he hissed slightly as Lucy cleaned his wound and began to stitch up the broken skin on his temple. “I thought he might die...”

“He might have,” she said gently, and Markus found himself looking away from her intense gaze, despite it being focused on her work, not he himself. “If the wound had been on the other side of his abdomen, he most certainly would have perished,” she said. “But we will watch and see that he makes it through the night. He is not completely out of danger.”

Whatever relief Markus had found was quashed with those words and his anxieties played upon his mind. Her delivery of the news, though calm, felt ominous to Markus. Her bedside manner, he thought, left a lot to be desired. He wondered whether Mr. Reed would be returning with the police soon.

Silence filled the room, marred only by Markus’ noises of discomfort as Lucy treated him and wrapped his head wound carefully. When she was finished she gathered her tools and stood fluidly, straightening her dress ever so slightly. “The police will be here shortly,” she said, gazing out the window just behind them. Her eerie calm made chills run down his spine, especially as Markus was unaware of Lucy ever knowing anything about the police coming to the house. Eventually, however, Markus gathered himself enough to follow her gaze out the window, where he saw Mr. Reed approach the house, two policemen in tow, all hurried.

In the dark and at this distance, Markus could not make out their faces, although he had his suspicions based purely on the stature and gait on the men Mr. Reed had with him. Lucy disappeared from the room to meet the men downstairs, and Markus sighed.

His suspicions were confirmed several minutes later when four people filed into the room. 

Lieutenant Anderson and P.C. Stern filed into the room, and Markus cursed his luck. Of course, it would be these policemen. “Mr. Manfred,” Hank said, by way of greeting, surprised as he was. 

Beside them, Mr. Reed looked surprised, and somewhat suspicious. “You lot know each other?” 

Lieutenant Anderson spared Mr. Reed a cool glance, and nodded a little. “We’ve met,” he said vaguely. Hank had never been one for sharing. “What happened here?” he asked, examining the unconscious Lord Simon and his injured companion. 

“I was assaulted,” Markus told them, and he watched as the policemen shared a look. “When...Lord Simon came to help, he was stabbed. I-”

“Go on,” Lieutenant Anderson pressed firmly, noticing the obvious hesitation.

“A man was killed- shot,” Markus said, vaguely, unwilling to tell them who it was who had shot him. “If...if Mr. Reed would be so kind, he might lead you to the scene...”

“Alright,” Hank said, heaving a sigh. Reed, although he had not been consulted on the matter, seemed to resign himself to the task and slip again out of the room. “So tell me again what happened.”

Markus did as he was told and recounted the events, including the letter he had received and the two gentleman he had met in the alley. He did, however, leave out the nature of their acquaintance. He had no desire to have policemen learn of his criminal past, however brief it had been and how young he was. He also made no mention of the author of the letter. That would be for Simon and likely Daniel, to decide what to do. Sometime during the explanation, Simon awoke, no doubt disturbed by the conversation happening around him. He tried and failed to sit up and Markus paused in his tale to adjust Simon’s pillows that he might be more comfortable.

They questioned Simon gently, and that was when they learnt that it was Simon who had killed Tucker. Then he breathed a heavy sigh and looked at Markus. “You must go to my brother,” he said. “Tell him to alert our lawyer.”

“I will go,” P.C. Stern finally spoke up, having remained studiously quiet throughout their tale. “It would be better not to separate these gentlemen,” he said when Hank looked back at him. 

“No,” Simon said tiredly. “You have made yourself quite unpopular with my brother,” he said, and Markus was sure he meant to leave out that Connor had made himself quite unpopular with the household in general. “Take Mr. Manfred or he will not hear you.”

P.C. Stern hesitated long enough for Lieutenant Anderson to sigh loudly and turn. He walked up to his partner and none-too-gently hauled him from the room, disappearing around the corner and out of sight. That did not stop their voices from carrying. “For fuck’s sake, Connor,” they heard Hank growl. “A man had been stabbed and another killed,” he reiterated firmly. There was no response that Markus knew of, but Hank continued after a moment regardless. “Let go of your fucking crusade for five damn minutes and do your fucking job.”

Markus didn’t think he had ever heard such profanity leave a respectable man’s mouth before. Beside him, Simon tired to laugh, but aborted the action promptly, face twisting in discomfort. Apparently, Simon found impropriety most entertaining; or perhaps it was the laudenum. Already it seemed as though Simon were ready to drift to sleep again. Hank and Connor’s argument faded into the background when Simon tugged on Markus’ sleeve and when prompted, Markus obediently ducked his head to listen to Simon’s whisper.

“Don’t mention the letter to my brother,” he asked of Markus. He continued at Markus’ quizzical look. “I ought to be the one to tell him about it...” When Markus thought about it, he supposed it was, ultimately, a family matter and it might be easier coming from a brother. Markus nodded, and Simon seemed to relax. After a moment, Markus realised Simon had fallen asleep again.

When P.C Stern returned, it was without Anderson. “Lieutenant Anderson has left with Mr. Reed to confirm your story,” Connor said, approaching the pair. “As for Lord Warren’s request, you and I had better fulfill it.”

Markus, though hesitant to leave Simon, got to his feet thoughtlessly, only now realising that at some point in the evening he had lost his hat. It would likely be found in the alley. “How do I know that you won’t simply arrest me?” Markus asked, trepidation seizing him suddenly. He couldn’t allow himself to be pulled away from Simon when he was so vulnerable. “After all, I am well aware of your suspicions.”

P.C. Stern seemed to pause, glancing off to the side as if to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “Suspicions aside,” Connor began patiently. “You are both clearly the victims in this case and regardless of what I may think, your situations will be treated with due diligence,” Connor finished, and Markus couldn’t help but notice the way Connor’s eyes lingered on Simon’s prone form with a look of what Markus might dare call sympathy.

Markus hesitated for barely a moment before he held out his hand towards P.C. Stern, who looked at it almost bewildered. Markus’ hand remained out-stretched and he said, “truce?”

Markus supposed Connor had displayed enough enthusiasm for the job that he could at least believe that Connor might put aside his personal pursuits for the better, more urgent tasks. He was proven correct when he took Markus’ hand and gave Markus a firm handshake. “For now.”

Markus found the response less than satisfactory, but he supposed Connor’s sense of duty might be the only reason, aside from perhaps Hank himself, that neither he nor Simon had yet been arrested. At least Connor knew an olive branch when he saw one. “Do you have a carriage?”

“I do,” Connor said and the two of them began to file out the room. “Not far from here.”

True enough a little ways down the road was a stanhope - a horse drawn carriage fit enough only for two passengers. Beside him, Connor picked up the pace and Markus moved to match it, time was, of course, of the essence. The pair of them settled in the carriage and Connor took the reins and set the horses in motion. The journey was silent. Connor focused on the road and Markus’ mind couldn’t help but wonder. 

He had been tasked to protect Simon. How was Daniel going to react? Markus was under no illusions that he remained in the Warren household by the grace of Daniel alone; although, given recent events, he suspected that to be patently false. Markus had only thought as much.

It did not take them long to reach the manor at all, and Markus had barely waited for the carriage to draw to a stop in front of the manor before he leapt out of the vehicle and up the stairs towards the front door.

The door opened as he pushed it and he quite promptly collided with Avery, who looked more than a little surprised to see Markus there. Both men drew back in time to keep from colliding with one another. “Avery,” Markus said quickly, throwing the door open wider. “Prepare a carriage,” he ordered hastily, but with such authority that Avery already seemed to be moving to obey. “Good man,” he called over his shoulder at Avery as Connor filed into the manor behind Markus.

The manor was quiet now. It seemed that the evening’s activities had ended and their guests had gone home. The gift portrait was missing. Markus had been about to go upstairs in search of Daniel, expecting to find him in his room, but noticed the flickering of candlelight in the door leading to Daniel’s study.

Markus wasted no time in approaching the door, forgetting to knock in his haste. 

The sight that greeted him was more than a little shocking.

Daniel was at his desk, although he was not alone as Markus expected he would be. Instead, Daniel pulled away from the woman he held in his arms with a shout. The woman herself whirled around to face the door with a startled cry, her face reddening sharply. 

Daniel was, of course, less than pleased. Mrs. Williams turned away from Markus, quite mortified and took several steps away from Daniel, her back to them both as she focused her attention out the window behind Daniel’s desk. 

“What the  _ hell _ do you think you’re doing?” Daniel snapped, his own cheek reddening in embarrassment. Daniel’s hand lingered at his lips, which were slightly reddened. Markus noticed Mrs. Williams doing the same thing via her reflection in the mirror. 

Markus couldn’t help but flush, feeling Connor walk up behind him, though he remained blessedly silent. “I- Uhm-”

“And what is  _ he _ doing here?” Daniel ground out, irritation overriding his mortification at having been discovered with the maid. A maid who happened to be married.

Connor, the one only not nonplussed by the situation, spoke. “There’s been an incident,” Connor explained, quite serious, standing with his hands behind his back. “Your brother has been injured and requests your presence.”

Mrs. Williams, forgetting herself in her astonishment, finally turned to look at them both, wringing both hands nervously in front of her. Daniel found himself speechless. It was all he could do to turn to Mrs. Williams, who swallowed, but nodded urgently at him. “Of- of course,” Daniel said. “send for Avery-”

“Already done,” Markus said, finally able to push past the awkwardness and Daniel rounded the desk and followed Markus out of the room and towards the front door. Avery was just drawing the carriage up to the front door when they opened it. Evidently Avery had roused some of the other servants to assist him to have prepared the carriage so quickly. No doubt there would be rumours and speculation flying around until Mrs. Williams set them all right.

“Follow me in your carriage,” Connor said as he returned to his stanhope and Markus slid into the carriage behind Daniel. Connor led Avery out of the driveway and through the streets of London. Soon, they would be back with Simon and Markus wouldn’t feel quite so naked.

For a minute or so, Markus sat in the quiet of the carriage. The air felt as though it was getting heavier with every breath, watching Daniel look out the window of the carriage with a nervous flutter in his chest. Markus felt the urge to speak rising within him, eyes fixed intently upon Daniel.

Markus had every intention of taking a deep breath to calm himself, but found that as he did so, the words he fought to keep down flew out of him as a flock of birds would take to the sky. “You know I’m in no position to judge-”

“Don’t,” Daniel interrupted, shoulders stiff and Mouth taut, as if irritated that God had ignored a prayer. Daniel seemed to be eying the sky with disdain. “Speak,” he said, as if struggling to speak around a stone lodged in his throat. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm hoping to have this finished by the new year, so here's hoping I can meet my own personal goal.
> 
> Maybe it's just the pacing, but I just hope this doesn't feel as rushed as I think it does. So much has happened in such a short space of time, I only hope it's translating well considering the pace of the rest of the story.
> 
> As always thank you for your kind words and support. I always look forward to knowing your thoughts.


	26. A Word in Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head and a confrontation is at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:
> 
> Just a big old...super racist, super homophobic chapter all around, I'm so sorry :c

In spite of the revelation of Daniel’s involvement with Kara, the mood in the carriage soon turned to something more subdued. The air wasn’t suffocating, but it was certainly dire. Markus could see the anxiety on Daniel’s face as time went on; and despite knowing that the carriage ride would be a short one, it was made longer by the look of deep concern etched onto Daniel’s face. 

Daniel hadn’t spoken, or inquired as to what happened. Almost as if he had reconciled with himself already that something like this might one day happen to his brother. Given Simon’s predilections, it was possible that Daniel thought that he might one day lose him one way or another. Daniel’s shock seemed to derive the violence of it, the suddenness. Markus couldn’t bring himself to interrupt Daniel’s reverie. 

When they drew to a stop, Daniel did not wait for Aery to open the carriage door. Instead he threw the door open and followed Connor, who was already making his way towards the entrance of the apothecary, inside the building. Markus followed at a more sedate pace, although he was equally anxious to return to Simon, even now he knew he must not appear too eager. He thanked a concerned Avery, who met him at the carriage door, and hurried inside and up the stairs.

When he arrived, Lucy and Mr. Reed were lingering by the door, with Reed apparently making no secret of taking in the spectacle in front of him, looking surly as he ever had. Lucy was nearby, arranging medicine on a tray. She likely stayed close in case her patient needed her. By now it was late in the evening, and if she had business elsewhere, it would be attended to in the morning. 

Markus himself approached the doorway, but did not cross into the threshold of the bedroom. Daniel had pulled a chair up to the bed and held Simon’s hand in his own, speaking so softly with his brother that Markus could barely hear them. Of course, the room was so small even their quiet voices could be overheard. Markus listened intently as Simon recounted every detail that he knew of the letter and Markus’ situation. Then, Markus watched Simon’s hand pull away from Daniel’s only for him to place it on his brother’s arm and squeeze firmly. “Daniel,” Simon said at long last, his voice losing it’s gentle quality. “Mother wrote that letter,” he said, loud enough that even Lucy in the hallway could hear. “It’s there,” Simon said, gesturing to the bloodied coat that had been thrown into a large metal basin in the corner of the room. “In my coat pocket.”

When he turned, Daniel could see the familiar beginnings of rage in the curve of Daniel’s lip and the narrowing of his eyes and the general sourness in his expression. Daniel, it seemed, was making a valiant effort to remain calm amid the revelation of his mother’s deception. He hesitated at the sight of the bloody jacket and Markus watched Daniel’s shoulder’s tense as he rigidly reached it. He made quick work of retrieving the letter, dropping the dinner jacket hastily as though it burned him. 

The letter too, was bloodstained, though only lightly and from what Markus could tell, not enough to render the writing illegible. Daniel shook it open carefully, avoiding the blood by pinching the corner of the latter between his fingers. It seemed every part of Daniel was repelled by the evidence of Simon’s pain.

Daniel read the letter, his expression darkening further with the confirmation of the allegation Daniel likely didn’t need to see to believe. He gripped the corner of the letter so tightly it creased; Markus wondered if it had even torn. By now, Daniel was in the throes of full-fledged fury. 

Daniel rounded on Connor, who watched intently, but silently. “You,” Daniel said, commanding Connor’s attention. “Get your partner,” then he focused on Markus, who was stunned to be called upon. “All three of you are to accompany me home,” he snapped. P.C. Stern nodded and left the room swiftly, in search of his partner.

Markus nodded wordlessly. He had no desire to contradict anything Daniel might say or do from that point, knowing how Daniel felt about Simon, Markus suspected retribution was coming. So, Markus swallowed in anticipation and he chanced a glance at Simon, who watched his brother in silence, disbelief shone through his obvious pain.

“Daniel,” Simon gasped, struggling to sit up. “You can’t mean to-” Simon paused, leaning heavily on his elbows as he took deep breaths to gather himself. Markus stepped into the room and gently guided Simon to lay back down again so as not to strain himself. He even took a cloth to swipe at the sweat gathering on Simon’s brow as Simon began to speak again. “You can’t mean to use my injury to-”

“I can,” Daniel snapped, irked. “And I shall,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Whatever her intentions, she hurt you,” Daniel continued, pacing back towards his brother, eyeing him seriously. “I won’t stand for it. Nor will I tolerate your guilt and pity.”

Simon seemed stunned and conflicted. Neither he nor Markus could argue with Daniel’s convictions, although it seemed Simon had some reservations. “She’s our mother...”

Daniel spared no words on the statement, and turned on his heels, waving for Markus to rise and following him. 

“I will return for you,” Markus said, now free to cup Simon’s cheek in his hand and take in Simon’s expression, apprehensive and regretful as it was. As their eyes met, Simon pleaded silently for reassurance, which he found in Markus’ gentle kiss on his lips. “All will be well,” he promised gently before standing his touch lingering on Simon’s for a long as possible. 

When they left the house, they saw Connor and Hank rushing to meet them at the door. It wasn’t long before they found themselves at the Warren manor again. It was approaching ten o’clock in the evening and most of the household was either asleep or very quiet indeed. Markus could hear no hint of the excitement he was sure was going on in the servant’s quarters. Avery was sure to have alerted the staff, or at least some of them, to Daniel’s sudden flight from the home and out into the night. Clearly, they were waiting in anticipation for what was to come next. 

For a moment, Lieutenant Anderson, P.C. Stern, Lord Warren and Markus stood in the foyer suspended in indecision. Lord Warren was to instruct the police and even in his fury, he could not allow the men to enter her room. The solution to his problem came in the form of Mrs. Williams, who rounded the corner of the servant’s corridor and approached the men, wringing her hands in front of her, worried.

“Mrs. Williams,” Daniel began, upon spotting her, wasting no time. “Call my mother to my office,” he said. “Tell her nothing, only that I wish to see her.”

He gestured for the men to enter his office and Mrs. Williams seemed jarred by the notion, and moreover somewhat confused by the situation and their houseguests. Nevertheless she nodded and scurried up the stars hurried and disappeared from sight.

Daniel, upon entering his office, sat at his desk and pulled Markus’ letter from the inside of his coat pocket and placed it to one side. Hank and Connor situated themselves at the back of the room, just behind the desk and Markus lingered in the doorway, watching as Daniel reached into a drawer and withdrew a clean, crisp sheet of paper. Markus found himself made nervous by Daniel’s eerie calm. 

For a while, they stood in silence as Daniel dipped his pen into a bottle of ink and began to draft a letter. Every now and again, Daniel would take a decidedly deeper breath than usual and Markus imagined him to be working through yet more of his anger. It was not long before there came a knock at the door, which Markus moved to open without a second thought, stepping aside to allow Mrs. Williams and Lady Warren inside.

“Lady Warren, sir,” Mrs. Williams said with a small curtsy before hastily excusing herself from the conversation and shutting the door behind her. Markus envied her.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lady Warren asked, glancing around the room, her eyes landing on the two police officers first before she turned to him with a look of poorly veiled surprise. “It- it’s the middle of the night.”

“Mother,” Daniel said with a faux calm that put even his mother on guard. “May I introduce Lieutenant Anderson and his...staunch subordinate, PC. Stern,” he continued, never once looking up from his letter.

Lady Warren looked between the men, but did not bid them so much as a ‘how do you do’ before she set her eyes on her son again. “I will ask again,” Lady Warren continued firmly, wrapping her dressing gown more tightly around her. Markus wondered if she were cold or insecure. He reasoned it was likely both. “What on earth is going on here?” Then, she looked to Markus, looking him over critically. “What happened to him?” she questioned, gesturing vaguely at Markus’ bandaged head. 

Daniel lowered his pen and gently blew on the paper to dry the ink before he put that letter aside as well. “I’m sure you know well enough,” Daniel began, ignoring his mother’s indignant sound of protest at his vague remark. “Do you recognise this letter?” Daniel continued, holding up the offending object, in all its morbid splendor.

Pushing past her indignant fumbling for words, Lady Warren frowned. “I’ve never seen that wretched thing in my life,” she said, disgusted at the sight of it. “I say, you should dispose of it immediately.”

For his part, Daniel was distinctly unamused. “Don’t lie to me,” Daniel admonished sharply, for the first time giving way to the visceral rage within. “You look a fool when your own sons have identified your hand in this letter,” he growled, dropping the letter onto the table again, preferring not to touch it more than necessary. Markus had never liked Daniel’s temper, but some pitiless part of himself watched the scene unfold like an avid read would consume a book. The other part of him saw Simon reflected in Daniel’s harsh countenance and lamented for the guilt he knew would follow the evening’s course of events. Simon’s heart would break. Markus knew this because he held Simon close to him, closer even than the flower in his breast pocket allowed, even if Simon remained so blissfully unaware of the fact. 

Lady Warren was flushed with outrage. “Just what is it I am being accused of?” she barked, in an outburst to rival one of Daniel’s own. Markus saw now where Daniel got his temper. 

“Attempted murder,” Daniel retorted sharply, rising precipitously from his chair. “Of this man,” he clarified, pointing unceremoniously at Markus, who was subjected to the most baleful gaze he had ever known when Lady Warren looked at him. Even Daniel, on his most hateful day, did not compare. It was as if she had tried to take everything gentle out of Daniel and failed, he tried so hard to live up to her expectations but could not do it. What she had created in Daniel was passionate and fierce, but so cold. This, of course, was nothing to Lady Warren’s glacial countenance. She, who stood before them, giving nothing away. “And causing grievous injuries to your own son.”

That gave Lady Warren pause. “That’s not possible,” she said, in disbelief. “Manfred left before him,” she said, trying to reason with herself. “Simon is in bed.”

At that, Daniel nodded and rounded his desk, approaching Lady Warren slowly, seething. “He is,” Daniel said, menacingly, close enough now that his mother had to look up to him to meet his gaze. “But you won’t find him in his room,” when she tried to respond, Daniel did not let her and instead continued with his speech. “He is stabbed and bedridden somewhere you cannot find him,” he hissed and she stared at him in silent horror. “Take her,” he said, gesturing Lieutenant Answerson and P.C. Stern forward as he stepped away from her.

Her shock did not prevent her from whirling around and trying for the door. Markus stepped into her bath, blocking her escape and she gasped, indignant and furious. “Move,” she hissed at him. “Or you will find yourself unemployed.”

“A risk I am willing to take,” Markus said, unyielding. 

Behind them, Anderson and Stern took Lady Warren arms between them and she looked at them in outrage. Lady Warren yanked herself from their grasp and turned to face her son. “You cannot do this,” she snapped. “I am your  _ mother _ .”

“Yes,” Daniel drawled, unimpressed. He stepped closer to her again when she stared him down defiantly. “Make no illusions,  _ mother _ . I will see you  _ hang _ for this,” Daniel hissed. The outright rage had returned to Daniel’s expression once again and Markus had scarcely seen a man look more vengeful and remorseless as Markus did in that moment. Markus watched mother and son converse and Markus wagered that Daniel’s conduct, in any other circumstance than this, would have pleased Lady Warren immensely. She had raised him to be callous and tried so very hard to quash the compassion that Daniel so readily displayed for his brother and those that he loved. Markus supposed Lady Warren saw it as a weakness in a man, but he knew little of her and would never claim to understand the workings of her mind. 

Soon, Lady Warren was seized again and turned, but the police and Lady Warren were forced to stop when Markus did not immediately move out of their path. “I must ask you,” Markus said, catching Lady Warren’s attention. “Why?”

Lady Warren was so vexed that she did not even think of the company she kept before she spoke, or rather sneered, at Markus. “Because you are beastly, sir,” she said, with needles in her words. “Seducing my son is one thing, but that he should fall for one of...” she paused to look him up and down, her disgust palpable. “ _ You _ ,” she spat. Markus felt indignation rise within his chest as he listened to her enraged rant and it was all he could do to keep from raising a hand against her. “That my son should fall for one of  _ your _ kind... _ he is no son of mine _ ,” she disavowed, coldly. 

Markus, for all his eloquence, could not form an adequate response, for once lost for words and so very lost as to what to do. Before two policemen Lady Warren had disowned and outed both her son and her lover. Moreover, she had done so because Simon had loved a black man. He realised now that although she must have hated him all the while, Lady Warren had hired him because no respectable gentleman, even one such as Simon would, or could, love a man like Markus. It made Markus’ stomach roil to look at her. 

Meanwhile, Daniel had used the distraction to plich the bloodied letter from his desk and fold it neatly before handing it off to Lieutenant Anderson, who took the letter with his free hand and pocketed it. “For evidence,” Daniel said, to which Hank nodded. 

Markus forced himself to step aside. 

Daniel turned his attention to Markus then, his anger dissipated now that he had exacted justice upon his mother. He took Markus in and saw the grim set in his shoulder and expression, and paused for a moment as if searching for some consolation. Even Daniel could see that Lady Warren bitter disdain for him touched more than a nerve. 

No words were forth-coming, however, and Daniel held the newly written letter, folded, stamped and signed with Daniel’s name out to Markus. “See that Avery takes this to our lawyer,” Daniel instructed gently. “And then you may return to Simon,” he said, with something of a tentative smile, as if searching for something that might improve Markus’ mood. 

Markus did take the letter and the notion of returning to Simon was uplifting, although it did not alleviate in their entirety the weight of the words that had been so unceremoniously spat at him. “The lawyer?” Markus asked, in a bid, perhaps to distract himself.

“Instructions not to defend my mother’s case,” Daniel intoned before he clapped Markus on the shoulder. “Do not think of it. You should go, or you will miss Avery.” 

True enough Markus could hear the group outside making arrangements to leave. So, with an uncertain quick of his lips, Markus nodded and turned to leave. When he was outside, he approached Avery, who was already perched in the driver’s seat of the family carriage. There was of course, no room for three people on the stanhope. “Lord Warren wishes for you to take this to his lawyer,” Markus said, passing off the note. He watched Avery tuck it into the breast pocket of his coat with a nod.

Then, as Markus turned to leave, Connor caught his eye. For a moment, they stared at one another as Lieutenant Anderson settled Lady Warren inside the carriage. “Listen,” Markus blurted out, his nerves at last giving way. “What Lady Warren said-”

“About what?” Connor interrupted swiftly. “I’m afraid I’ve found myself quite distracted and have heard nothing Lady Warren has said all evening,” he informed Markus with the slightest of shrugs, keeping his gaze trained on the carriage door. It would not do for Lady Warren to try and escape justice.

“She’s raving!” Lieutenant Anderson said from within the carriage. Markus couldn’t help but notice a distinct look of pride in Anderson’s expression when he looked down at his subordinate. “This good lady is clearly hysterical,” Hank said, turning his attention to Markus. Markus was flabbergasted, but not unpleasantly so. “Who can discern truth from lies at this point, eh?” he asked, smiling.

“R-Right...” Markus hesitated to say, taking a step back as Connor slipped into the carriage as well and closed the door behind him.

“Take the stanhope to the shop, would you, son?” Hank asked fondly, to which Markus nodded, still quite befuddled. It was with that request that Avery set the carriage in motion and Markus watched them until they were out of sight.

Markus suddenly felt tired. 

Heaving a sigh, Markus gingerly drew a hand over his face so as to avoid his tender wounds and wrappings, and got into the stanhope. It was a simple enough carriage to steer and in no time at all Markus found himself back at the apothecary. He parked the carriage and went inside to find Simon.

When he arrived he found Simon sleeping peacefully. He sat with Simon in the chair that had been left there by Daniel and watched him until he too slipped into oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's part of the narrative, but the sexism and the racism and homophobia especially really just. Upset me. I hate writing it, but it IS part of the story.
> 
> So thank you for your patience, understanding and your kind words of support and all the kudos. 
> 
> Not long to go now guys. I hope you all have wonderful holidays.


	27. Lord Byron's Phlox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Lady Warren' arrest, Markus and Simon finally have time alone with one another and much to discuss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo! Hyped for a more upbeat chapter. Enjoy, guys! I hope everyone enjoyed their holidays.

When Markus awoke, it was to a feeling of lightness, with a distinct chill in the air and daylight breaking through threadbare curtains. Markus drifted through a malaise of fatigue and the cold he felt set deep into his bones and found himself quite unable to open his eyes, heavy with sleep as they were. He felt the touch of rough linen sheets against one of his cheeks and the gentle brush of something faintly warm against his other.

The sensation was rhythmic and ghostly light. Markus, even in his haze of sleepiness, leaned into the touch. Then he was made faintly aware of another presence when he heard an amused hum which seemed to Markus’ ears, quite delighted. It was enough for Markus to put forth the effort to pry his eyes open. He blinked away the discomfort of the light in his eyes as the touch on his cheek stilled. Involuntarily, Markus found himself humming in disappointment, quite bereft of the soothing motion. 

“Good morning, my heart,” came a whisper, followed by a wheeze. Raising his head and turning towards the source of the sound, Markus’ eyes landed on Simon’s tired, yet contented expression. However, Markus did not miss the faintly pained twist of Simon’s lips or the way Simon struggled to breathe.

“Dove,” Markus whispered horsely, every frozen inch of him protesting and he moved to sit upon the edge of the bed and lean over Simon to carefully place a kiss upon pale lips. Simon responded in kind. “Are you cold?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically. “I will start a fire,” he said, although he was reluctant to leave Simon. “I will ask Lucy for help with your pain...” he continued on, making Simon smile. Markus had no idea how long Simon had been awake and suffering, but apparently he had not the heart to wake Markus for help. 

Simon did not protest as Markus stood up, though he seemed disappointed that Markus would be leaving him so soon judging by the set of his brow and the look of upset that crossed his face. Markus couldn’t help but lean down for another kiss before he turned to leave the room.

That was of course when he turned to find Mr. Reed in the doorway with a bucket of coal in his arms and a surprised look on his face. For a moment, they stared at one another before Mr. Reed, in what may perhaps be a common expression of impatience, cleared his throat and marched across the room to a small fireplace in the corner. “I didn’t see anything,” he mumbled with his back to them,just loud enough for both men to hear him across the room as he shovelled coal into the fireplace.

Markus turned his head to look back at Simon, who seemed equally as perturbed as he did, but perhaps too exhausted to seem overly concerned. Eventually, Markus seemed to accept the silence in the room, broken only by the noise of Mr. Reed’s work, as one of understanding. Hesitating for a moment longer than necessary, Markus forced himself to leave the room, trusting that Mr. Reed would do nothing to harm Simon in his absence. Markus would not be far, so he knew he could help Simon if he required assistance. 

Markus did not find Lucy upstairs when he searched for her, but found her in the kitchen on the floor below sitting at a small table in the corner, drinking her morning tea. She seemed so deep in thought that Markus would not have otherwise have dreamed of disturbing her had Simon not been in need. 

He approached slowly, reluctant to disturb her, but when he found himself within her peripheral vision, she turned to face him, and knowingly pushed a small bottle and spoon, which had been sitting on the table in front of her, towards him. “I suppose it is time for another dose,” she said. Markus picked up the bottled, labeled ‘laudanum’ and nodded.

“Thank you,” he said.

“How do you feel?” she asked, looking over his bandages from where he stood.

“Much improved,” Markus said, and found the statement to be truthful. His wounds still ached and the stitches beneath the bandages chaffed and stung but he no longer felt as though his head might burst. Now all that remained was a slight headache that Markus suspected would fade in time.

“The instructions are on the bottle, if you feel the need to take a dose yourself,” Lucy informed him quietly. “And, if you wish, I can bring the two of you tea.”

“That would be most appreciated,” Markus said, realising at once how parched he was and how Simon must be feeling the same way. She smiled at him reservedly and nodded which Markus took at permission to dismiss himself, which he did, taking the spoon and medicine with him.

By the time Markus returned to the room, Mr. Reed was already gone and the fire was lit, but the room was still far from warm. Simon had pulled the blankets up to his chin and had his eyes closed, although they sought him out as soon as Simon heard Markus’ footfall as he walked toward the bed. The pillows on Simon’s bed had been propped up slightly to allow Simon to sit up without straining his wound. 

“Here,” Markus said, raising the medicine in his hands demonstrably as he sat on the edge of the bed and began preparing the dose. Simon didn’t reply, focused as he was on his breathing and keeping warm. Without much fanfare, Markus fed Simon the dose of laudanum and put the bottle and spoon on the rickety bedside table that was careworn and tipped to the side on the uneven floor when Markus placed the bottle on its surface. 

In the quietude of the early morning hours, the pair idled in a pace Markus thought long overdue. Markus took Simon’s pale hand in his own and once again found himself marvelling at his long fingers and soft skin and the way their hands seemed to fit so perfectly together when he put their hands together, palm to palm. Simon indulged the little exploration with a charmed smile. It seemed to Markus he enjoyed the touch as well. 

It occurred to Markus that the night before he may never have had the chance to simply touch Simon again like this if he had succumbed to his wounds the night prior. The thought of the warmth of Simon’s hand turning as frigid as the winter air outside was more than Markus could bear to think about. Markus felt tears stinging at his eyes.

He felt fingers lacing with his own, grasping him firmly, but gently. “Markus?” Simon asked, finally breaking the long, comfortable silence. “What’s the matter?”

“I could have lost you,” Markus said, voice thick with emotion. “In all my life I have never been so afraid to lose someone,” he admitted swallowing, and Simon looked at him in understanding. Markus leaned forward, pulling Simon’s hand closer to place a firm kiss upon the back of his pale hand. “I love you so...”

Simon pulled his hand free of Markus’ only to bring it to Markus’ cheek where he cupped it in his hand and wiped away the beginnings of the tears he found there. “Forgive me, dove,” Simon whispered, which Markus found quite puzzling. “I put so much responsibility on your shoulders...I was so afraid,” he wheezed, and the guilt in his expression was clear. Whether Markus thought that Simon meant his desire to live or his want for Markus to desert him, Markus had no idea. Perhaps it was the way Simon had impressed upon him how happy he had been. Perhaps he thought by admitting such a thing Markus might feel responsible for what might have happened had help never come. Markus decided not to mention that he would have felt responsible no matter what Simon had said.

Whatever the case, and whatever Simon was referring to did not matter to Markus. All that mattered was that here and now, Simon was alive. They both lived, which was more than some had wanted. “It does not matter now,” Markus said, turning his head and pressing a kiss into Simon’s palm. “You are safe.”

“We both are,” Simon said, with a small smile. “But I hope you know better now than to keep secrets from me,” Simon added, his expression reproachful but temperate. The statement was a simple one, yet it weighed Markus down like a sack of bricks had been tied to his ankles and he nodded, contrite. It was true. If he had told someone, anyone, perhaps they would not be where they were now, in a stranger’s bedroom being tended to for injuries that needn’t have been there at all. 

“That is why I should be the one apologising,” Markus said quietly. “I only wanted to make sure you were safe,” he said as Simon lowered his hand from Markus’ face. Markus sought it out immediately and took that hand into both of his own again. “If you went there with me, it would be to admit our...involvement.”

Simon’s answering laugh was short-lived, halted abruptly by the pain in his abdomen. “Be careful, dove,” Simon said, through the pain. “You are verging on cautious,” he rasped. The room was beginning to warm up and it seemed that while Simon’s condition was improving, the heat in the room did not, as yet, provide adequate warmth and comfort.

“Suffice it to say,” Markus replied, unsmiling. “I have had it quite thoroughly impressed upon me how easily we...” When Markus trailed off, Simon opened his mouth to urge Markus to continue, but found it unnecessary as Markus turned to look at him, quite seriously. “Your mother tried to have me killed,” he said and found he could no longer keep the subject to himself any longer. As much as he did not wish to cause Simon distress it was time to address the elephant in the room. It was a subject too big and too hard to ignore.

Simon did not know what to say, judging by the look of shame that crossed his expression. He closed his eyes guiltily and nodded. “Yes...I’m sorry, dove...” he said, “Will you tell me what happened last night?” Simon asked, after a moment of silence. “After you left with Daniel.”

Markus though he could not resist discussing the topic anymore, was in no way eager to speak on it and wondered exactly how to approach the subject sensitively. Markus wondered if he could. So, he took a breath to steel his nerves and spoke. “Your brother was naturally quite furious,” Simon nodded once in understanding, silently urging Markus to continue. “He has had your mother arrested, Simon,” he said, opting at last simply to tell Simon the unadulterated truth.

For his part, Simon did not seem surprised, but Markus could see he was conflicted all the same. Lady Warren inflicted much in the way of pain - Markus would go so far as to call it torture - upon Simon, but it seemed to him that she was still his mother. She had not yet become nothing but a demon to him; or, perhaps she was and it was merely a sense of familial obligation that made Simon look so at odds with himself. But Simon was well aware of Daniel’s protective nature and couldn’t say he was wholly surprised by the outcome. 

“He has instructed the family lawyer not to assist her,” Markus continued, quietly, as if the tone of his voice might soften the blow, which some might seem cruel. 

“What?” Simon said, seeming surprised. “I-”

Markus watched Simon process the information patiently, saying nothing. 

“Forgive me, Markus, I..I know she hurt you,” Simon said, eager to tell him how he did not mean to upset Markus with his words. After all, Markus loved him. Markus knew that, and he had to admit it did sting to hear Simon so conflicted over his mother’s actions, reaching to defend her but knowing he cannot. But, Markus was not a fool. When his mother was alive, if he had ever needed to, he would try very much to justify her actions, even when he disagreed with them. Markus understood it was instinctual, in part. “But even for Daniel...”

“I thought it extreme as well,” Markus admitted, “though you will forgive me for being somewhat biased in favour of Daniel’s decision.”

The law as it was more or less sealed Lady Warren’s fate. It was more than likely she would see the gallows by the week’s end. Murder and and being an accessory thereof, was deeply frowned upon. Frankly, most things saw people facing the noose and it seemed to Markus to be a necessary evil, although he might not have thought so if he had remained poor and desperate. If Carl had not taken him in, Markus’ perspective no doubt would be quite different. He found, in recent days, his view on the world around him was changing more and more. He did not wish to die because of love. Perhaps he would die for it, one day, but he did not want to be punished. It was more than unfair and it troubled Markus to watch Simon suffer, unable to fight for himself and others like him. Simon did not want to die, either; though he had shown himself perfectly willing to protect those he cared about. 

“The carriage will be here this afternoon to take us home,” Markus said when Simon did not speak again, clutching Simon’s hand in his own. “I will arrange for Lucy to continue your treatments there,” he said. Markus was aware that the Warrens had a physician, but Lucy had seen them through the worst of it and he trusted her. Besides, Markus wanted to be able to pay her for her trouble. When they returned to the manor, Markus would broach the subject with Daniel. “Simon?”

Markus’ demeanour had changed so suddenly that Simon couldn’t help but notice. Simon examined Markus critically, obviously worried by the uncertainty that had saturated Markus’ question. “What’s wrong, Markus?” he pressed, gently.

“...Could you love me?” Markus asked, voice small. “Really love me?”

Simon was so alarmed by the question that he tried to sit up, but Markus was quick to ease him down again. For a moment, Simon floundered for words. “Markus, I-” he paused again, seeming to gather himself. “Of course I could,” he said firmly, hands seeking Markus’ own again in order to pull them closer to press a kiss to the back of Markus’ hand. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I do not ask you to say it now, of course,” Markus said, knowing Simon’s feelings on the subject. He knew how Simon felt about him, but the insecurity that Lady Warren had set deep inside Markus’ bones with her cruelty made Markus want to hear it all again. “But your mother,” he said and took a breath before he continued. “She...said she hired me because I was black,” he told Simon, who seemed puzzled. “She thought you wouldn’t... _ couldn’t _ love me for it.”

With the understanding came the horror. Markus had to confess to himself he was relieved to see the expression on Simon’s face. “ _ No _ , my heart, no!” Simon said, perhaps a little louder than he had intended. “Come here,” Simon continued, holding his arms out to Markus, who scooted closer and leaned down as Simon pulled him in for a tender kiss. “You are quite possibly the most beautiful man I have ever known,” he whispered to Markus, whose heart swelled at the confession. “You are kind and passionate, intelligent and talented,” Simon whispered to him sweetly, and so earnest, Markus felt tears in his eyes. “I am so proud to know you, dove,” Simon said. “I wish I were as brave as you...I could love every inch of you and more besides and it still wouldn’t be enough,” he told Markus, softly.

When it was time to speak, Markus found himself with his head resting gently upon Simon’s shoulder. “You are,” he told Simon. “You came for me...”

“And I will stay with you,” Simon said when it seemed as if Markus would not continue. Gently, he pushed Markus to sit upright, and reach once again into his coat pocket. Markus watched Simon as he retrieved the book of Lord Byron’s poetry. The blood upon it had since dried, but Simon did not seem to shy away from the sight of it as he opened the book to reveal the pressed phlox inside. “Our souls are united, after all,” Simon said, much to Markus’ shock.

“You learnt the meaning…?”

“I confess I have always known,” Simon admitted, closing the book again. “I...pretended not to because of the company we were in,” he said and Markus recalled that he had been asked to reveal the bouquet’s meaning at Carl’s dinner party. “I couldn’t say it aloud,” he told Markus. “You made your feelings quite plain to me and frankly, I found it intimidating so I could not admit it, even to myself.”

Markus had never considered how his declaration might have been too strong, as unabashed as he had always been about his affections. Simon had told him the strength of his feelings had been frightening to him, but he had never imagined how much so. It made Markus feel silly and perhaps even selfish. But it felt good, Markus realised, so good to know that his message had not been lost on Simon. Simon had never been oblivious to the strength of his ardour and had borne it quietly and so brilliantly. It was just a shame that Markus could not have helped him. 

“Dove,” Markus whispered. “I love you...”

Simon smiled widely for the first time and pulled Markus to him again, his kiss passionate and Markus found himself melting into the other man.

When Simon jolted and hissed in pain, Markus pulled away sharply. “I’m sorry, love,” Markus whispered, to which Simon nodded a little and began to kiss Markus again. Markus did his utmost to avoid hurting Simon again, although the man made that quite difficult to do.

“I love you,” Markus whispered again, against pale lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys.
> 
> You GUYS! One more chapter. The Epilogue is coming. We're almost there. 
> 
> Also, the meaning of the Phlox in the Victorian Era was simply "united" but the more modern one is "harmony, our souls are united" which I like better for the specificity, so WE'RE GOING WITH THAT. I sure hope that reveal was damn worth it because it was a long time coming, lol.


	28. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this is it guys. For once in my life I've finished something and I am so glad that I have been able to do it with all your kind words and support. 
> 
> I'm super happy with the results. I only hope I didn't offend anyone too terribly.
> 
> I STRONGLY RECOMMEND YOU READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER. PLEASE.

It has been six months since the events in London and Markus still found he did not yet wish to return. As soon as Simon had recovered enough to travel, Daniel insisted the two take an excursion to the seaside for the benefits the seaside air would allow his brother. Daniel had also confided in Markus that it was also to allow Simon to escape the stress of the news reporters who would no doubt hound Simon and the rest of the Warrens for details on their mother’s murderous duplicity and the reckless endangerment of her own son. 

Naturally, Markus obliged Daniel and kept Simon away from any and all news regarding his mother’s court case except to tell him of her sentencing. Simon had not spoken much that day, but Markus had thought him far more affectionate than usual, however quietly. Markus had tried to reassure him that he did not need to compensate for the guilt Simon felt at losing his mother. He did not need to know the particulars of the way the media reported Daniel’s lack of support for his mother to be quite shocking many thought it understandable. When asked, Daniel had commented he could not live with her, knowing she was capable of such malice.

As of now, however, the drama that had followed the Warrens had died down and Markus and Simon had been left in peace for some time. 

Brighton had proven to be most diverting. The pair had secured a modest townhouse where they spent their time in privacy with housekeepers and a cook that came twice a day for a few hours at a time to maintain the house. But other than that, their days were uninterrupted. Markus had never felt such serenity and he sincerely doubted Simon had either.

The townhouse was decorated with carpeted floors and pale blue wallpaper throughout, everywhere except the master bedroom which was decorated with dark blues and golden accents. There were two bedrooms although they only used one. They reserved the second bedroom for the only guests they would allow - Miss North and her man, Josh. Since first being introduced to them, Markus had discovered that they were in fact lovers although Josh was still very much in Daniel’s employ, he did not seem to mind catering to Miss North’s needs and desires. 

It was early when Markus found himself walking up the stairs and along the quaint hallways that lead to the master bedroom, letters in hand, where he knew Simon to be asleep. He entered their room noiselessly, dressed only in his trousers and untucked shirt. He walked across the room, towards the bed where he sat gently and placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder. He shook the blond awake sweetly and placed a kiss upon his shoulder. Simon, who's back had been turned to him, rolled over slightly to look up at Markus with his familiar benign smile. “Good morning, love,” Simon whispered hoarse with sleepiness. 

“Good morning, my dove,” Markus said, smiling back at Simon, feeling lethargic himself. “I have the post,” he said, waving two letters at Simon, and sat up. As he did so, Markus couldn’t help but notice the bedding slip down his naked chest to reveal the scar on his abdomen, left there by a knife that almost took his life. Markus still felt tremendous relief when he thought of what might have been. He handed Simon the letter addressed to him and Markus opened the one addressed to him.

The letter was from Mrs. Williams. Since they had left, the pair had been in correspondence and Mrs. Williams regularly updated Markus as to the going on in the Warren household and London at large when the papers delivered from London proved to be inadequate sources of information and gossip.

Each pondered their letters in silence and Markus’ eyes slowly widened in surprise as he read. “Oh,” he began suddenly. “Mrs. Williams informs me she has discovered that her husband is now her  _ late _ husband,” he told Simon in disbelief. “And that he has been so for the past year. No one has been able to find her until recently to give her the news,” he explained when Simon looked as though he had just seen a fish walking on land. Markus was aware that Mrs. Williams rarely left the Warren Estate, but not to the extent that she might never run into old acquaintances. But he supposed, if one was hiding from their spouse, old friends would be something to avoid. It was a shame. Mrs. Williams had lost a year of freedom. 

“Well,” Simon said after a moment, glancing down at his own letter. “That certainly explains Daniel’s declaration,” Simon said, offering Markus a smile. “He has asked Mrs. Williams to marry him,” he said, prompting Markus to look back down at his letter, spotting mention of the event much further down in the letter. “And here I thought we had both done something scandalous,” Simon said with a laugh.

Markus chuckled. “I never did ask Daniel how long his affair had gone on for,” he said, thoughtfully. “Perhaps you both did,” he said, smiling back at Simon. “Is that not what twins do? Where one goes, the other inevitably follows?”

“Perhaps,” Simon said, contemplatively looking over his letter. “But I am certain that is not the case for all.”

“Almost certainly,” Markus chuckled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Simon’s lips.

“There’s something else,” Simon said, reading on in his letter. “Apparently,” Simon began with a raised eyebrow. “Daniel and Connor have formed what he calls a ‘reluctant friendship.’ It seems something was stolen from his work and P.C. Stern has been investigating.”

At that, Markus could help but laugh incredulously. “Really?” he asked. “Last I knew Daniel was about ready to bury Connor alive.”

“I know,” Simon said, more than a little amused himself.

“Come,” Markus said, placing a hand upon Simon’s leg and shaking him gently. “Josh and North are waiting with tea downstairs,” he said, raising from the bed. “Come when you’re ready.”

“Wait,” Simon said, sitting up further and reaching for Markus. Obligingly, Markus leaned forward again and Simon pulled him down into a deep and passionate kiss. By the time Markus pulled away he almost didn’t want to leave the room. “I love you, Markus,” he whispered against Markus’ lips.

“I love you too, Simon,” Markus whispered back. Unable to help himself, Markus clambered back onto the bed and pulled Simon against him. Simon allowed it, chuckling. 

Neither made it downstairs for another half an hour.

  
  
  


_ The End _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hear me out.
> 
> When I started this project, I wasn't sure where it would go, but somewhere along the way it became a vessel to help me get out my thoughts for an original novel I plan to go ahead with in the future. I was so obsessed with DBH at the time that it made sense for me to hit two birds with one stone (those poor birds). 
> 
> Consider this my official, unofficial first draft.
> 
> Because of this I may or may not take down the fic in a few months time. So, if you want to, please download a copy for yourselves but please DON'T repost it anywhere else, for me. That said, I plan to make major changes for the original story, so it may turn out to be fine and I might not delete it at all. I just don't want to like, plagiarize myself or something, you know? 
> 
> Now, on a lighter note, here's some information you don't need about MTMTE, but I'm going to give you anyway:
> 
> In the future, Markus and Simon spent a lot of time travelling between London and Brighton, before eventually deciding to settle down in Brighton together and live a quiet, happy, private lifestyle. When Simon is 40, he dies of pneumonia. Devastated, Markus eventually moves back to London. 5 years later, Markus falls in love with a woman (never decided who, maybe Lucy or Ruth or some unnamed woman nobody including myself has met) and they marry. Markus lives to be 65, with two daughters and a son. He never quite gets over Simon, but his love for his wife is different, not lesser. 
> 
> About a year after our story's end, Josh proposes to North, who accepts. They have a small an intimate ceremony. They themselves have a son and daughter and reach old age together. 
> 
> Okay, maybe that wasn't what I'd call a lighter note, but it's stuff I'd had in mind for their futures for some time, but I didn't think it had a place in the epilogue which I wanted to be short and sweet and end on a high.
> 
> Again, thank you SO much for your kindness and support.

**Author's Note:**

> Do let me know if you want to join our new Discord server called 'Detroit: Victorian Evolution'.
> 
> I'd say just look for it, but we can't go public with it yet for lack of mods. So, if you're interested in joining or becoming a moderator, let me know and I'll send you an invite!
> 
> Just a place to go to chat all things D:BH and having a chill time of it in general.


End file.
